


midnights and the deadlights

by howimetyourmulder (skuls)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Deadlights (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Movie: IT (2017), Stanley Uris Lives, not exactly time travel but definitely some time bending involved, this one is also a little weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 83,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/howimetyourmulder
Summary: Richie Tozier dreams of the Deadlights, twenty-seven years too early.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 119
Kudos: 745
Collections: It Faves





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this idea is definitely a little weird, but i couldn't get the concept out of my head, so i decided to take a stab at it about a month ago and it spiraled from there. this follows the plot of chapter 1 pretty closely, but there are definite references to chapter 2. (in some senses, it is a post chap. 2 fixit as well.) 
> 
> i'm on tumblr at @how-i-met-your-mulder if anyone wants to discuss these insane fucking clown movies
> 
> warning up front for several semi-graphic representations of eddie and stan's deaths.

Richie has the dream for the first time after falling asleep on top of his desk trying to finish the comic books he borrowed from Eddie two weeks ago and swore he'd give back right away. He has the lamp on under the guise of "studying for finals," and it's an angle where it's shining right fucking in his eyes, and his vision is going trying to make sense of the tiny text in the word bubbles, and his memory kind of goes out after that. He must've fallen asleep around then, he assumes, but all he really remembers is the sharp light of the lamp, leaving his vision blurry and fuzzy even with his glasses on, yellow dots behind his eyelids. 

The dream is this: he's standing in a cave somewhere, a dark shape looming over him. He's shouting something at the top of his lungs, but he can't make out any of the words, and whateverthefuck is out there in the cave turns on him. Richie feels like he should be running, but he doesn't, and then he's being blinded again, light in his eyes, pushing everything away. And then he's falling. Plunging downwards. His stomach jerks like he's on a roller coaster, his head spinning. A rush of images flash before his eyes, so fast he can't make it all out at first. Something that looks like a _door_ with the word _Scary_ written on it in huge, jagged letters; an arm that looks like it's snapped practically in half, what the _fuck_ ; Bill's face, stricken with terror, held in place by a white gloved hand; a sharp stinging on his palm, warm liquid between his fingers. Stage lights in his eyes and the taste of bile on his tongue; a man slumped limply over the edge of a bathtub; some guy with a knife looming over another guy; Stan's— _Stan's_ ?—head, all falling apart and rotting, with legs growing out of his face, crawling around on the floor like a fucking spider. What the fucking _fuck._ Richie tries to scream, but his throat is closed up. 

He hits the ground, landing in a heap, pain shooting through him. He can't really talk, can't really see. He's blinking rapidly behind cracked glasses, fuck, and then a guy is leaning over him, slapping his face a little like he's trying to wake Richie up. There's something familiar about the guy that Richie can't put his finger on, but his face is drawn with relief, and he's saying something that Richie can't hear. All he can see is the guy's mouth moving. The guy's talking to him, grinning a little with wide eyes, and Richie opens his mouth to try and say something, but before it can come it, the guy gets stabbed, right in front of him, something bursting right through his chest like that shit in _Alien_ , and his blood dripping onto Richie's face…

Richie yelps, the first sound he is able to make. He yelps and jerks, tumbling out of his chair and right on the floor on his ass. His head hits the rug with a _thump_ , his glasses flying off. He can't catch his breath. The lamp is still shining right in his eyes. 

Richie groans, reaching up to rub his eyes until the dots are gone. He shoves his glasses back on, blinking at the ceiling. The images of the weird-ass dream are still behind his eyes; he shakes his head hard to shake them off. He says to the ceiling, "What in the actual _fuck_."

\---

"Dude, I had this weird-ass dream about you last night," he says to Stan the next morning when they're walking their bikes over to meet Bill on the way to school. 

"A dream or a nightmare?" Eddie says, smirking, and Richie admiringly reaches without looking to bump his knuckles against Eddie's. 

Stan just rolls his eyes and says dryly, "What was the dream, Richie."

"Your head, like, fell off or something and sprouted spider legs, and crawled around trying to attack me." Richie does his best imitation of what he figures Spider-head-Stan would sound like, although he doesn't really remember what it sounded like in the dream. 

Eddie lets out a snort that's either laughter or a disturbed sound. "That's fucking disgusting." 

Stan looks considerably more disturbed. "I… turned into a spider?" he repeats. 

"Yeah, and tried to fucking eat me. It was _traumatizing_ ," Richie says dramatically, pretending that's not a little bit true. 

Stan shakes his head hard. "I don't even want to think about how your subconscious came up with that one."

"How'd the dream even end?" Eddie asks. 

Richie scuffs his fingernails over the rubbery handles of his bike and doesn't answer right away. He doesn't really want to talk about the rest of the dream, especially not the end. It shouldn't skeeve him out so much, it was just a dream, but he can't shake it somehow. Maybe it's the weird familiarity of the dude who got stabbed. Maybe it reminds him too much of Georgie—he never saw the accident, but he heard they found blood all over the fucking street; he's seen what it's done to Bill and his parents since last fall, and he doesn't even believe Georgie's still alive like Bill does. In the dream, he'd been able to taste the blood in his _mouth_ ; it's hard not to equate that with the blood of his friend's little brother in the street. 

So he says instead, "Spider Stan held back. Decided I was too _attractive_ to eat."

Stan snorts. "That sounds plausible," he says sarcastically, but his voice is strangely tight. 

Richie doesn't want to think about it anymore. Bill is coming down his driveway, rolling his bike along with him, and so he immediately changes the subject to the wipeout Bill took on his bike the other day. They're all immediately bickering and shoving at each other, and it feels normal, and Richie forgets about the dream for the time being. 

\---

He has the dream again two nights later. It's almost exactly the same, but with a few new images mixed in. There's a bloody shoe in murky water, Georgie Denbrough's tear-streaked face, red balloons in the park, a mirror streaked with blood. Fortune cookies cracked open, leaking disgusting shit all over the place. A _clown_ , of all things, slinking in the background, laughing hysterically and ducking out of sight whenever Richie tries to get a better look. (Clowns have always kind of freaked him out. He's not sure why; he just vaguely remembers going to the circus at two or three, and screaming and crying hysterically at the sight of a clown. His sister loves to break that gem out annually. He likes to think he's shaken it off, but the fucked up dreams certainly aren't helping.)

The dream ends the same way it did before, with the weirdly familiar guy leaning over him and getting stabbed. But it's a little different, too. It goes a little longer. Long enough for Richie to hear the guy speak, to say, "Richie…" in this scared little voice, like he knows Richie, like he expects Richie to _fix_ this. 

When Richie wakes up, he doesn't know why he's shaking. He turns on his lamp and reads Eddie's dog-eared comics (he'll probably fucking strangle Richie for bending the corners) until light starts to stream in between the gaps in his curtains. 

The next day at school is when he finds out Betty Ripsom is missing. It's not like he knew Betty very well—she's a grade behind them—but it's still weird to hear that she's missing now, the latest in a strange amount of missing kids that have popped up since Georgie. He overhears it in the cafeteria on his way to the trash cans, and he doesn't know _why_ , but as soon as he hears Betty's name, he pictures the fucking shoe from his dream. He shakes his head too hard and dumps his whole tray in the trash, even the cookie he'd planned to save for Social Studies class. 

\---

Richie has the dream two more times before the end of the week. The second time, he yells himself awake, and he knows this because he'd fallen asleep on the living room rug watching late night monster movies that he's not supposed to watch on a school night. His sister threw a pillow at his head to shut him up so he wouldn't wake their parents. 

It's getting harder and harder to remember anything specific from the dreams, they're all such a fucking mess. He starts having trouble separating out the Stan-Spider-Heads (why the fuck does he keep dreaming about _that_ ?) from the random shoe and fortune cookie shit, from Eddie barfing black stuff like he's the chick from _The Exorcist,_ from the fucking clown, who is also sometimes a spider for some reason. But the dream always ends the same way, with the guy getting stabbed. And even as weird and occasionally funny as all the other shit is (aside from the Georgie stuff, and all the fucking blood), the end always puts it in a different light. The end is what leaves him almost pissing himself. 

At first, Richie doesn't get why it should be bothering him so much; it's not like he knows the guy or anything. But he figures it's pretty messed up to watch _anyone_ get stabbed, even if it's just a stranger in a dream. He doesn't know why he keeps dreaming it, but he knows he'd like it to stop. It's unpleasant as hell, and he's tired of waking up shaking like his aunt's perpetually terrified Chihuahua. Four times of the same fucked-up dream is too fucking many. 

Richie hasn't really mentioned the dreams to anyone since that first time, but he brings it up to Eddie tomorrow on their way to the store to pick up snacks for the sleepover at Stan's. (He'd drawn the short straw and insisted he needed the extra hands to carry all the loot. He got paid for lawn mowing the other day and plans to spend every single cent on horrible sugary shit that will probably, according to Eddie, rot his insides.) "Hey, Eds," he says, "you know your mom's giant Mary Poppins cabinet full of medicine?"

"Don't _call_ me that," Eddie says automatically. 

Richie continues, quick before he chickens out: "You think she has any pills that keep you from dreaming?"

Eddie blinks, surprised. "I'm pretty sure that's not actually a thing."

"What, no anti-nightmare pills?" Richie puts on his best announcer Voice. "No pills _guaranteed_ to drive the Sandman away?"

"That is not a _thing,_ I'm telling you…" Eddie's voice trails off, like he's considering something, his expression softening. "You're having nightmares?"

Something in his tone makes Richie turn away too fast, pray his face isn't turning. "Only about your mother," he says, too loudly. 

"Oh, shut _up,_ that joke stopped being funny three years ago…"

"So you're admitting you found it funny?" He pokes Eddie in the shoulder, grateful for the change in subject. 

"I never said that! I never said that. I'm just saying, if it ever _was_ funny, it would've stopped being funny a long time ago, is that the only fucking joke you know?"

"Can't change a classic, Eds." Richie sticks his tongue out. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, muttering, "Don't call me that," again. "It's definitely not a classic," he adds, poking Richie back. "And you never gave me my comics back, either, asshole."

"What are you, a librarian?" says Richie, unwilling to admit that he's been holding onto the comics so he has something to read when he can't sleep, instead of the stale old comics he's already read a million times, or the last three chapters of _Oliver Twist_ for English. 

"No, I'm the guy whose comics you borrowed like three weeks ago, and _swore_ you'd give them back in a week, and I'll bet you've already bent them up o-or spilled something…"

"You're nuts if you think I'm paying any overdue fees," Richie says, grateful for the bickering, to forget the dream for a little while. Sleeping over at Stan's is probably just what he needs to shake this shit off, get back to normal. They've been doing it for Bill since Georgie.

\---

The dream is shorter this time. The lights, the falling, the guy leaning over him. He's talking in the same rushed, relieved voice, and Richie can actually _hear_ him this time. He's saying something about getting somebody, really getting him. Richie can't let himself think about who _him_ is too hard, because he knows what's coming next, and he kind of wants to shove the guy out of the way, but he can't move his arms. Hearing the guy talk, really talk, actually makes it a lot worse; it's almost as bad as when the guy said his name. 

He hopes it won't happen, but it does, the thing bursts right through the guy's chest. And he's bleeding on Richie's face. And Richie can hear, far off, people screaming. And his mouth is opening involuntarily, a word being wrenched from his throat: " _Eddie_ …"

Eddie. _Eddie._

( _Oh no no no no no….)_

The guy— _Eddie_ —is crying. Blood dripping from his mouth as he reaches up to touch the thing sticking out of his chest. "Richie," he whimpers, the same as before, but Richie can't move, can't help him. 

"Rich…" Eddie is pleading, and then he gets yanked away, pulled out of Richie's reach _hard,_ someone taking away his best friend…

"Eddie!" Richie yelps, louder than before, and he can move again, he's jerking away, kicking hard and ineffectively at his sleeping bag as he reaches uselessly for an Eddie who is no longer there.

"Richie, shut _up,_ 'm asleep," someone mutters beside him—Stan, it's Stan, he's sleeping on Stan's living room floor, and it was just a dream, it wasn't real, it _wasn't real_. 

But it was Eddie. He was older, he was different, but Richie knows now why the guy has always looked so familiar. It was Eddie, just a version he hasn't met yet. He's watched Eddie get stabbed in his dreams five times now. 

He's shaking all over. He lies back against the hard, solid surface of the floor, his arms tight at his sides. His face is wet, and he thinks, _Eddie's blood,_ involuntarily, but it isn't til he reaches up to wipe it off that he realizes it's tears. 

"What?" mutters a groggy voice to the right of Richie, and Richie doesn't even register it til he says it again: "Richie, _what_?" 

It's Eddie, Eddie's alive, lying right beside Richie, half asleep, and Richie wants so badly to turn and look at him, but he can't, he can't. "Eds?" he mutters, closing his eyes and instantly regretting it: he sees the adult version of Eddie behind his eyelids, his face frightened and tight with pain. _It's not real. It is NOT REAL,_ he thinks fiercely and sternly, and his hands absently curl into fists at his side. 

"You said my name," Eddie says in a hissy whisper, probably for the benefit of Stan and Bill. "Kind of loud, actually, you're gonna wake Stan's parents."

"Oh," Richie mumbles, clenching his teeth in a way that would horrify his father. He doesn't want Eddie to hear him cry. "Um, yeah."

There's an odd little silence before Eddie prods, "So… what do you want, Rich?"

"J-j-just tell him so we can go back to s-s-sleep," Bill adds, half asleep in his own sleeping bag. 

Richie opens his eyes because he can't take it anymore. He rolls over on his stomach to face Eddie, hoping it's dark enough in the living room that Eddie won't be able to see that he was crying. Everything is all fuzzy without his glasses but he can still see Eddie, his blurry expression somewhere between annoyance and confusion (he thinks). It's the most calming thing in the world. 

"Nothing, just…" His voice wobbles precariously at the end, so he clears his throat and says, "I'm done with your comics. You can have them back tomorrow."

Eddie looks surprised, Richie's pretty sure, but either way, he's glad he doesn't have his glasses on because he doesn't want to picture blood dripping from Eddie's lips. "Oookay," Eddie says, lying back down in his sleeping bag. "Thanks."

"Anytime, Spaghetti," Richie says automatically, and is relieved to see Eddie flip him off. He obeys Stan and Bill's sleepy urges to shut the fuck up and turns back over so he's facing Stan, scrubbing his wet face in the lining of his sleeping bag. He covers his mouth with one hand and stubbornly tries to think of literally anything else. He looks off into the blurry darkness, pretending he isn't listening to the steady sounds of Eddie's breaths just behind him. It seems rare that they're ever steady, with the asthma, but they're steady tonight. 

It is a long time before Richie falls asleep. 

\---

Richie has shaken it off by the next morning. He swears he has. He eats Stan's strawberry Pop-Tarts in the morning, mushing his up in a bowl of milk mostly because he knows Eddie thinks it's disgusting. He arm wrestles Stan for custody of the leftover Oreos. He agrees along with the others to meet at Bill's house later to see whatever Bill has to show them (he suspects it has something to do with Georgie). He walks back to his place with Eddie to get his comic books. 

The last one is admittedly harder. He keeps looking over at Eddie and seeing the Eddie from the dream, he keeps listening to him talk and hearing his pained voice in the dream. It's exhausting, it's creeping him out, it's making him want to cry. He lets Eddie ramble on for twenty minutes straight about the potential mechanisms (and best safety procedures) for the unfinished dam they were working on in the woods, just because it's easier to listen to him talk and remind himself that it was just a dream. It's just a stupid _dream,_ seeing Eddie get stabbed really isn't any different—if he thinks about it—than seeing Spider Stan or seeing Bill all freaked out. It's just a dream, and just because he's had it five times doesn't make it mean anything. Why would it matter that he's watching Eddie die thirty years from now? It's horrible, it's keeping him up and he never wants to have the dream again, but that doesn't make it _real_. That doesn't mean it's going to happen, it's just a stupid fucking dream.

Eddie is explaining why it might work better to use bricks instead of rocks—"It'd make more sense, that's how they build walls, I mean, but it's not very natural, and where would we get the bricks, anyway? We'd have to lug them down into the woods, too, that'd be a huge pain in the ass…"—and it's comforting. Richie keeps listening, reminding himself that it isn't real. It isn't real. This is what is real, and none of the stuff in those dreams are going to happen. 

"Richie, you okay? You're being weirdly quiet," Eddie says suddenly. "I think this might be the longest you've gone without talking."

"Ha, ha," Richie says dryly, almost without thinking. "I'm just spending time poking holes in your ridiculous brick plan."

"You asked! And it would work. And I wasn't the one who shouted _your_ name in the middle of the night and then barely said a word all morning." 

Richie doesn't have anything to say to that. They've finally reached his house, so he goes digging for his key in his pockets, which as usual, he can't find. (His parents never even really used to lock the fucking door, but then Georgie happened, and then the other kids, and now he has a key.) "You planning on robbing a construction company, Eds? Don't think you'd get very far on your short little legs."

"Fuck you, I said it wouldn't work—you're fucking kidding me, did you lose your key _again_?" 

Eddie's held a bit of a grudge ever since he slept over last month and Richie convinced him to sneak out and go swimming in the middle of the night (he still can't believe Eds went for that), and then immediately lost his key, and spent twenty minutes arguing with Eddie while they were wet and shivering on the front porch over whether to ring the doorbell and give themselves away or just break into the house. Richie tries not to grin at the memory. "I did not lose my fucking key, I just can't _find_ it," he says, flipping out both pockets and finding them both empty. 

"That is the _definition_ of losing something. You always do this, y-you need to get a keychain or something so you don't constantly lose your key and lock us out…"

His parents always go to farmer's markets and shit on Saturday morning, so he knows they aren't home, and his sister will strangle him if he wakes her before nine on a Saturday. So Richie simply turns and runs off the porch, rounding the house as fast as he can until he can find a first floor window to slither into and go let Eddie in. Eddie looks pissed off when he finally opens the door, but only mildly. "You're an idiot," he says as he enters the house.

"I'm a genius. I just entered the impenetrable fortress." Richie makes a face at Eddie, and then half-shouts, "Race you upstairs!" before taking off, thundering upstairs so loud that he suspects anyone who _was_ asleep is definitely not. 

He bursts into his room ahead of Eddie's protests and totally unfounded cheating accusations, spotting the comics from where he left them by his pillow and grabbing them so fast he gives himself a paper cut and rips a corner a little. And then he wonders if he shouldn't have done that, because it's not weird to read comics in bed, is it? He's read Bill's comics in bed. He's flipped through Stan's stupid bird books in bed. But he hasn't read them to get over nightmares. And then he's thinking about the nightmares again, fucking shit, and he shakes his head so hard his glasses fly off to try and make the images go away, and when Eddie's blurry form appears in the doorway, he thrusts the stack at him and blurts, "Here you go," without even making a joke or bragging about beating him upstairs. 

"Where are your glasses?" Eddie says, in exactly the same _what the fuck_ tone he's been using all morning.

"Over there," says Richie, and falls onto his knees to grab them. He thinks about doing his shitty Velma impression, which all of the guys made him swear he'd never do again about a dozen times (it's pretty bad), but he can't muster up the energy, so he just sticks them back on his face. 

Eddie's flipping through the comics, muttering disapprovingly, "You bent them, I fucking knew you would…"

"Yeah, well how else are you supposed to keep your place?" Richie flops back on his bed, sprawling out like a starfish. This is really the only reason Eddie came back, and he isn't sure whether or not to beg Eddie to stay or pray that he goes home. He's not sure which would make remembering the dream worse. 

"Bookmarks," Eddie says simply, setting the comics down on the table. 

"Who the hell uses _bookmarks_ on comics?" 

"I do. Because I don't like my comics bent." Eddie flops down beside him, his elbow accidentally jabbing him in the jaw, his knee knocking against Richie's. Their arms are kind of squished together because Eddie practically landed on _top_ of him, but he doesn't move away, and Richie does not want him to, no fucking way. He just mutters, "Dork," without any real malice, jostles his elbows against Eddie's, and does not does not does not think of the cave and the lights and Eddie's blood. 

Eddie jostles him back. "Arcade opens in half an hour. You wanna go? I definitely can't go home before Bill's, my mom won't let me go back out."

"Oh, fuck yes," Richie blurts, sitting up so fast that Eddie bumps into his side a little as the bed sags. It's kind of weird that Eddie offered, he never really wants to go to the arcade, but he doesn't care, he'd do anything for a distraction. "I'm getting better, Eds, I'm telling you. I'm gonna have that high score before eighth grade, just you fucking wait." 

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"Oh, you'd better believe you'll see it." Richie sticks out his tongue, half tripping over his own feet trying to get to the bag of change he stashes in his desk. "Ready to get your ass kicked, Eddie Spaghetti?"

They play Street Fighter fifteen times in a row, only eleven of which Richie actually wins. He insists that's still pretty good, but Eddie won't let him forget his four wins. Their hands knock together constantly, Eddie insists on stacking the change organized by specific coin, and Richie doesn't think about the dream. 

\---

Bill has a new theory about where Georgie ended up: the Barrens. That night, he shows them a model he's made of the Derry sewers, demonstrates how Georgie could have ended up there. It's clear that he still believes that he's gonna find Georgie alive, there in the Barrens, and Stan, Eddie, and Richie won't tell him any differently. Even if they actually wanted to try and tell him that, they wouldn't know _how._ So they agree immediately: as soon as school is out, they'll help Bill search the Barrens. 

Richie doesn't know what the hell else he'd say to that; he's obviously not going to say no, not when he saw Bill cry in the pantry during Georgie's funeral because that was about the only place to get away from everyone. It sounded horrible, like the sobs were being pulled out of his with hooks; Richie never wants to see Bill cry like that again. For about five seconds there in Bill's garage, he thinks about telling Bill about seeing Georgie in the dreams, but he changes his mind about that one pretty quick, it seems pretty fucking stupid. It's not like the dreams are like good or comforting or anything, so that won't do anything for Bill, and besides that, after all that nightmare shit he told Eddie, he's afraid that Eddie'll put the pieces together and figure it all out. So he doesn't say anything. 

(He has the dream again on Sunday night. He sees Georgie crying somewhere dark and muddy, he sees bloody palms, he sees Bill clutching something yellow in his hands. He sees the fucking clown again, jumping at him like an evil kangeroo, hovering on the shoulder of the fucking Paul Bunyan statue in the park, stumbling around a room with a fucking spike sticking out of its head. He sees Eddie get stabbed again. He wakes up screaming. He doesn't tell Bill. He doesn't tell any of them.)

They're supposed to go out to the Barrens at the end of the week, and Richie knows that Eddie and Stan are less than enthusiastic. He knows they won't _not_ go, of course, but he also knows they're not exactly _excited_ about it either. Bill must know, too, because he catches Richie after school the next day and asks him— _just_ him—to go down to the Barrens. "J-j-just to scope it out," he says. "Make sure we're l-looking in the right places."

So they ride their bikes from school down to the Barrens, Bill flying ahead on Silver and Richie struggling to keep up and shouting curses after him. They splash around in the creek, shuffle through the bushes and the pines, step into the huge mouth of the sewer pipe. It's big enough to be a tunnel, stretching out into the dark. If it wasn't a fucking sewer, it could be the fort Richie always wanted as a kid. But it _is_ a sewer, and it's literally impossible to forget that. "Eddie is gonna lose his shit, man," he says, poking at the inside of the pipe with the toe of his shoe. "So is Stan."

"I k-k-know," says Bill, in that voice that means he's mostly thinking about something else. "B-but I want the extra eyes w-w-when we're looking for…" He breaks his words off abruptly for reasons Richie assumes have nothing to do with the stutter. "Anyway, m-maybe they'll see something that I won't. Stan n-n-notices a lot. Eddie, too."

"And what am I bringing to the table, huh? Besides my rugged good looks?" He mugs for Bill, who just rolls his eyes. “I’ve got to be good for something.”

“C-c-comic relief,” Bill offers sarcastically.

“That’s just admitting that you think I’m funny, Big Bill,” Richie says smugly, and jumps off the rock he’s standing on so he lands in the water, splashing Bill around the ankles. He misses Bill’s response, though, because something catches his eye. A line of people—of grown-ups, more specifically—wading through the shallow edge of the creek, crossing in front of the mouth of the sewer. 

Richie stares, fully expecting to be either told to fuck off by adults who disapprove, Eddie-style, of splashing around in the sewer, or completely ignored in the typical Adults-Who-Don’t-Notice-Literal-Psychos (like Henry Bowers) style. But neither thing happens, because the strange troupe of randomly wading adults doesn’t even seem to see him. There’s six of them, five guys and a woman, one of whom has his jeans rolled up around his ankles in a way that feels utterly familiar and totally weird to Richie. One casts a nervous look at the sewer, and seems to look _directly through_ Richie, like over his head. What the shit.

“Hey, Bill,” Richie half-whispers, “what the fuck is up with these people.”

“W-w-w-what people?” Bill’s voice echoes loudly through the tunnel, and when Richie turns to look, he finds Bill a lot further down than he was before. He seems to have no idea what Richie is talking about. And when Richie looks back at the creek, he sees that the grown-ups are gone. As if they were never there.

 _Ghosts,_ Richie thinks without really thinking, and shudders. “The… Derry people,” he finishes lamely. His friends are going to think he’s gone totally nuts if this shit doesn’t knock it off. “They’re so fucking weird. This place could make a list of ‘Top Five Nutjob, Crackhead Towns in the World.’”

Bill doesn’t answer that; he’s refocused on looking down the mouth of the tunnel, squinting into the pitch black. Richie might have been insulted any other time, but right now, he’s relieved that Bill's distracted. He looks back out at the creek and still sees nothing except for water and pines. No weird, vanishing adults. Ghosts would be a rational explanation in this weirdo situation, but even ghosts sound kind of weird. Besides, their clothes looked weird, but not, like, old fashioned or anything. Besides, what kind of haunting is that? Why would six ghosts show up here unless they got killed by a falling pine tree or something? None of it makes sense. 

And then his treacherous brain betrays him by pointing out that one of the guys looked a little bit like Adult Dream Eddie. The one with his pant legs rolled up. Just a little bit.

Richie bites the inside of his cheek and shakes his head stubbornly to that thought. No fucking way. Aside from not wanting to think about those weird, horrible nightmares (wanting to avoid _literally every moment_ where he pictures his best friend skewered on some giant claw), he refuses to equate whatever the fuck that was with the dreams. No way. They’re just fucking dreams. That’s all. 

He pokes around with Bill a while longer before making an excuse to go home. He invites Bill to dinner because Bill’s parents have been absolutely shitty since Georgie, and then he takes off with no warning to his bike to get a head start and pay Bill back for earlier. And that night, he absolutely does not have the dream, because he doesn’t even go to sleep. He finishes reading _Oliver Twist_ because fuck it, required readings are way better than those dreams. Way, way better.

\---

The dreams stop. At least until the end of school. Richie stays up for two nights straight and then can't stand it anymore; Stan tells him that he looks dead at lunch one day, which sets off a lecture from Eddie on health and the importance of a good night's sleep, which Richie fully intends to ignore, but that's before he falls asleep in Science _and_ Band. So, yeah, he can't keep staying up all night. He finally goes to sleep, and somehow he doesn't dream. He doesn't watch Eddie die for four nights in a row. It's enough to make him think it might all be over, and he's _more_ than ready to leave it all behind. Forget these fucking dreams and move on, because Eddie is not gonna die, no way.

The last day of school comes quickly, and even with Bower's promise to make their summer hell, Richie is still in a pretty good mood. It's fucking summer, and he hasn't been having nightmares. How the hell can he be in a bad mood?

Bill heads home straight after school—Richie suspects between Bowers and Betty Ripsom's mom, he's probably a little shaken—but the rest of them go out to the site of their unfinished dam and aimlessly stack rocks for a while before giving up. Eddie and Stan shift to trying to skip rocks. Richie doesn’t even bother because he knows he’s horrible at it. Instead, he lies out like he’s sunbathing even though they’re under the cover of about a million trees and practices impressions until Stan throws a handful of dirt at him. 

Stan has to go, too, eventually—his dad has him practicing nightly for his bar mitzvah, apparently. Richie makes a joke about how miserable it must be to have to _practice_ the dick chopping shit and Stan flips him off in lieu of a goodbye. As he's walking off, Richie sees something strange across his forehead, along the lines of his cheeks: a line of red circles, like bug bites. And then he blinks and it's gone. 

"Hey." Eddie thumps him lightly on the knee, scooting closer along the sloped riverbank. "What the fuck is up with your face, dipshit?"

"What the fuck is up with _your_ face?" Richie retorts automatically, and Eddie elbows him. He elbows him right back, flopping back against the sun-warmed grass. "What the fuck are you even talking about, anyway?"

"I dunno, you just had this weird look on your face. You were looking over towards Stan, and you looked… weird," Eddie finishes lamely. He crosses his legs and pulls up a handful of grass, sifting through it in his palms. "Shut up."

"Didn't say anything," says Richie, but all the usual bite is gone out of it. He squints up at the deep green leaves, lit all weird by the setting sun. It's the kind of thing Bill would've loved to draw if he did that anymore. _It was a trick of the light,_ he tells himself firmly. _A trick of the motherfucking light._ "You're being way weirder than me right now, Eds." 

"Screw that, Rich, you've been acting weird for two weeks now," says Eddie, very matter-of-factly. "Ever since we slept over at Stan's."

"I have not!" Richie says, although he knows he has. He's been hoping that they haven't noticed. 

"You _definitely_ have. You've been all quiet and asking weird questions. And you weren't sleeping this week for like three days straight. What's going on with you?"

Richie lays one arm across his eyes in case his eyes give him away. "Nothing's going _on_ ," he protests. "I was just… having some nightmares. But they're gone now, so it doesn't matter." He won't mention the weird shit he keeps seeing, ghosts or tricks of the light on Stan's face or whatever. 

"Nightmares? About what?" Eddie asks, sounding a little skeptical. 

His knee bumps against Richie's thigh as he adjusts his position, and Richie immediately stiffens and immediately regrets it. He scrunches his eyes closed under the tent of his arm and lets out a deep sigh before saying, "Clowns," because it's kind of true, and it makes more sense than the random images or Spider-Stan or Georgie or Betty Ripsom or whatever. It's better than telling Eddie that he's watched him die as an adult six times in his dreams. 

He lets his arm drop in time to see Eddie's face scrunched up in confusion. "Wait, is that why you asked about dream pills?"

"Maybe." Richie pokes him in the thigh and says in the British Voice, "Got any solutions, Dr. K?"

"That's why you weren't sleeping this week! Rich, you need to sleep, it's not healthy."

"You sound like the mom in _Nightmare on Elm Street_." Richie sits up and adjusts his lopsided glasses. 

"It's the _truth_ ," Eddie says, exasperated. "And I mean, it's not even like you've got a Freddy Krueger thing to deal with, right? They're just dreams. They can't hurt you."

Just dreams. Right. Richie nods and looks at the grass instead of Eddie because he's afraid he's going to see blood dripping out of his mouth. They're just dreams. "Right," he says. "Well, uh, they're gone now, so it doesn't matter."

"Good," says Eddie. His knee knocks against Richie's gently as he shifts again. He picks up a flat stone and hurls it at the creek with a flick of his wrist; it skips once before sinking. Richie makes a sound of approval, drawing a line in the dirt with one finger. He thinks briefly about putting his head on Eddie's shoulder, and his mind instantly recoils indignantly. 

"I didn't know you were afraid of clowns," Eddie says suddenly, without any real mocking in his voice. 

Richie's tried to keep the whole clown thing under wraps, more or less. It's kind of embarrassing, and it's not like it's come up very much. He hadn't thought about it very much before he started seeing a clown crawl around in the background of his dreams. "I dunno, they're just creepy," he says. "You don't think they're creepy, Eds?" He does his best imitation of a clown, adding in a crawly little Voice, "Want a balloon, Eddie?" He tacks a creepy snicker on the end, realizing too late he's imitating the clown from the dreams. 

"Shut _up_ ," Eddie says, shaking his head and laughing a little. "Point taken. Is that the shit he says in your dreams?"

"No, he just talks about your mother," Richie says automatically, and bursts into wild laughter as Eddie shoves lightly at his shoulder. He grabs a couple stones and tries to skip them but they sink immediately, which segues into a twenty-minute tutorial on Eddie's part on how to actually skip stones. (He's only slightly better than Richie, but it works.) They stay down at the creek until close to dinnertime when Eddie has to sprint home or risk pissing off his mother.

\---

Richie doesn't dream that night, but he does stay up late watching monster movies, _obviously_. It's the first night of summer! 

He falls asleep in the middle of a Frankenstein movie and wakes up to a werewolf one at two in the morning. He's perfectly content to sleep on the living room rug all night, but he's thirsty as hell, so he gets up to get a glass of water from the tap. He grabs one of his mom's heavy fucking juice glasses, the ones with the ridges cut into the sides, and digs into the pantry for cookies before going to the sink. The water makes a rhythmic drumming sound in the bottom of the sink. Richie sticks the glass under the faucet, muffling the sound, and that's when he hears it: a soft giggle coming from the dark cavern of the dining room. 

The glass suddenly feels too slippery in his hand, and he has to clutch it hard to keep from dropping it. He looks gingerly over his shoulder towards the dining room, and immediately hears it again. Maniacal laughter, louder this time, drifting out of the dining room. The same laughter from the dream. 

The glass is overflowing overtop of his hand. He turns off the faucet and dumps the glass in the sink before scampering straight upstairs, not even stopping to turn off the TV first. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning up front for this chapter: there's another semi-graphic depiction of stan's death midway through

The first real day of summer is one of the weirder days that Richie's experienced. He spends the first day of summer running through a sewer, becoming an accessory to a pharmacy robbery, and watching Eddie patch up the new kid's stomach wound. They unofficially adopt the new kid, who remains remarkably put together in the face of a fucking bloody _H_ carved into his fucking skin. (Bowers is a fucking psycho.) Bill invites Beverly Marsh (another accessory to the pharmacy robbery) to go swimming with them. It's weird as shit, but at least it's better than another boring, uneventful day in Derry.

(They find Betty Ripsom's shoe in the sewer. Her name is written on the inside. Richie's blood runs cold when he sees it, his throat closing up, and he makes a joke about Betty running around in the sewers with one shoe to cover it up. He tells himself it _has_ to be a coincidence, it can't be the shit from his dream because that's too fucking insane. It's a coincidence, it has to be. It must be related to the infamous story of Betty losing her shoe in the mud on a class field trip in elementary school and having to walk around the bus half-barefoot; that's why his subconscious associated Betty with a lost shoe. He tries to forget about it. He is not going to let these fucking dreams ruin his summer.)

The new kid's name is Ben Hanscom, and it turns out he has two crumpled fives stuck in one pocket. ("So we didn't have to steal that stuff," Stan says, and Richie gasps in false [British] astonishment, "Stanley! What are you saying! Why should we make this poor chap sacrifice his own money for medical attention?" and Ben smiles a little at that.) He buys them cold sodas at the corner store and they drink sitting out on the curb in front of the movie theater, digging through the snacks from Eddie's kitchen. 

Ben seems a little shy at first, stuck in a perpetual blush from their interaction with Beverly Marsh, but he opens up a little with prodding. They all know _why_ Bowers attacked him—something about an assignment or a test Ben wouldn't help him cheat on, which is insane; the new kid may be a bookworm and hang out almost exclusively in the library, but Bowers is like four years ahead of them in school, he shouldn't be harassing a seventh grader for tutoring. Falling under the umbrella of Bowers's rage is enough to give them plenty of material to relate to each other. "He's a-a-always been like that," Bill offers Ben sympathetically. "When we were in the second g-grade, he tricked Eddie and Stan into going super far in the woods on the day of the s-s-school picnic and l-left them there."

"We were lost until way after sundown," Stan adds. "It was bad. The teachers didn't notice we were gone for hours. Eddie's mom tried to sue the school, but it didn't really go anywhere." (Ben looks a little creeped out at that, although Richie isn't sure if it's the Bowers part or the teachers part. He probably hasn't lived in Derry long enough to get used to the whole adults-ignoring-shit thing.)

"I've never heard of Bowers doing anything like this, though, this is fucking insane," Eddie says. "Someone should call the cops."

"His dad _is_ a cop, dipshit," says Richie. "Welcome to Derry, Hanscom, the land of totally useless adults." 

"They're not _all_ useless, but they're mostly useless compared to adults in… other places. I think," Stan adds. 

They ask Ben some questions about where he's lived before. Apparently, he's moved around a lot—single mom, gets transferred a lot, the whole shebang. He's been in the town for a couple months, but Richie knows he spends a lot of time by himself; he's seen him reading some giant-ass books in the cafeteria. "We, uh, usually don't stay in towns very long, so uh, I don't usually make a lot of friends," he says, sounding a little embarrassed. 

"W-w-what all have you been doing s-since you got here?" Bill asks.

Ben shrugs. "Reading, mostly. I hang out in the woods sometimes. I've been trying to build some stuff… old habit or something. I spent last summer helping my cousins build a treehouse." His face is turning bright red again. 

"Dude." Richie thumps Ben on the shoulder, genuinely excited now. "We've been trying to build a dam in the woods since _March_ , but Eds is totally useless as architecture."

"Hey!" Eddie yelps in protest. 

"You could help us finish it," Richie finishes, satisfied. 

Ben looks pleased, like he's happy and trying to hide it. "S-sure, I could do that," he says. "Uh, I think Mom is hoping to stay here for a while, so. I could help, yeah."

"Good, I can finally stop having to listen to these idiots argue over the best way to build a dam," Stan says dryly. Ben chuckles nervously while Eddie flips off Stan behind Bill's back. 

"And y-y-you're coming swimming t-tomorrow, right?" Bill asks. "At the quarry? I-it's really cool. Best s-s-swimming spot in town."

"The jump will make you shit yourself," Richie offers. 

Ben smiles over the rim of his Cherry Coke. It's nervous, but it's genuine. "Yeah, that sounds great," he says. "I'll be there." 

Richie has been hanging out with just Bill, Stan, and Eddie for so long that he's always figured that any new addition to their group would be kind of group altering. But this is shockingly natural, like the new kid is supposed to be hanging out with them. He seems pretty all right. It's summer and it's so nice to be sitting around outside drinking sodas and ragging on each other that Richie can almost forget that the day started out with them looking for Bill's dead brother or finding the shoe of a missing girl that he's seen in his dreams. He can almost forget the hallucinatory clown laughter and bug bites and adult ghost-creek-waders, can almost forget the dreams. 

\---

The next day is equally weird, although it falls more under the usual scale of Derry Weirdness than normal weirdness. They end up hanging out with Beverly Marsh, who actually accepted Bill's invitation, but it turns out Bev Marsh is fucking cool. She takes the quarry jump no problem and shows them all up. She fits into the group as seamlessly as Ben, to the point where it seems crazy that she hasn't been hanging out with them all this time, especially considering how long they’ve known her. 

Things start really getting weird, though, when Richie finds Ben's weird history-murder research in his backpack. He's got all the stuff the teachers vaguely skate over in history class without actually talking about any of it: the Ironworks Explosion, the Black Spot, the Bradley Gang. He even has this creepy ass statistic about how people die at six times the national average in Derry. Richie's never thought about it that way, but it makes total sense. Derry's always had that weird vibe of a town that probably breeds a million serial killers.

Ben invites them back to his place to see more research that he's done, and Bill pretty much immediately agrees for them all. They all know what he's thinking: Georgie. It's impossible to say no in that situation. 

So they all bike over to Ben's house to look at his nerdy collection of history articles. Ben insists it's pretty cool, but Richie mostly has to disagree. It's all articles about dead people or the haunted eyes of missing children. The only cool part is that it gives him his best idea yet: to get Derry on _Unsolved Mysteries_. (Eddie approves.) Bill's intrigued, though, Richie can tell, and he suspects that if he knows Bill Denbrough at all, they'll be digging through every historical location in Derry they can actually find. 

Personally, Richie doesn't know _what_ the hell is happening in Derry. Some people (Mrs. K comes to mind) seem to think it's a serial killer or something making all these kids disappear; other people seem to think it's a coincidence or something. But Derry's long history seems to suggest it's something else. A cult, maybe. Or maybe there's something in the water. It could explain all the weird dreams and hallucinations he's been having. But whatever it is, it's clearly terrifying as fuck. It aligns too well with everything he's been seeing for a couple weeks now, and he doesn't like it. He tries not to think about it, instead speculating at length about the probability of finding _Unsolved Mysteries_ in the phone book until Stan elbows him.

They disperse before long, Bev saying something about curfew and Eddie chiming in with the same excuse. Richie walks part-ways home with Eddie, trying and failing to throw his voice. It's kind of a bet with himself to see whether Eddie explodes from exasperation or busts out laughing first. He seems to be on the verge of laughter when they split, just before Neibolt Street, and Richie yells goodbyes over his shoulder and sprints the rest of the way home, mostly to catch the movie coming on TV. 

He actually makes it in time, although he forgets to take off his muddy shoes and has to get back up and peel them off, but the movie's only been on for about fifteen minutes when the phone rings. A few moments later, Richie's mom calls, "Richie, phone for you." 

Richie groans a little—he's been waiting to watch this movie all week—but slides off the couch anyway and rushes into the hall, scooping up the phone from where it sits on the table and yelling, "Got it, Mom!" He shoves the phone up to his ear and says, "Trashmouth's Laugh Factory, Trashmouth speaking."

"That's a fucking horrible name," Eddie says. He's out of breath, panting a little, and his voice is strangely tight.

"You're just jealous, Eds," Richie says. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he says too quickly. "Nothing, just, um…" 

He stops mid-sentence, his voice faltering, and Richie can hear him trying to catch his breath, can hear the sound of his inhaler on the end. He sounds like he ran all the way home. "Hey," Richie says, maybe a little gently, "spit it out, Spaghetti my man."

"Rich, did you have those, uh, c-clown dreams again last night?" he asks a rush, spitting out the words. Weirdly enough, he sounds almost afraid. 

"No," Richie says immediately, and it's not really a lie, because whatever he heard last night wasn't in a dream. He's still filing it under _hallucination_ or _imagination,_ but he can't tell Eddie this shit, he'll think he's mental. "Not last night. I told you, they've stopped." 

He hears, almost instantly, the _whoosh_ -y sound of Eddie's inhaler again. It freaks Richie out, makes his blood run cold. Makes him wonder if _Eddie's_ been having weird dreams. (But that's impossible, because they're _just dreams_ , they can't be real.) "Eds—" he starts tentatively. "Eds, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Eddie says too quickly. "And don't call me that. I-I'm gonna go now, okay?" 

"Wait, wait, wait," Richie says, motioning frantically with one hand even though Eddie can't see him. "Wait, Eddie, are you okay?"

"I'm f-fine," Eddie says, almost steadily, but Richie almost can see him bringing his inhaler up for another puff. "Just fine. Thanks for walking with me, Rich. I'll see you tomorrow." He hangs up abruptly. 

Richie blinks awkwardly, holding onto the phone a moment too long. _They're just dreams, it's probably just Bowers freaking Eds out,_ he tries to tell himself. After Bowers's speech yesterday and what happened to Ben, Richie's a little on edge too. Of course Eddie would be, too, of course. Maybe Bowers even dressed _up_ like a clown or some shit like that, he’d be creepy enough to do that. It's just the dreams, because it's not real, it can't be real, he can't think about the possibility that any of it is real. He felt so weird standing in Ben's room, among all that murder history shit and missing kid posters… It's been hard over the years to see that shit, the posters, and not picture his own face on them (as hard as it is to ignore Bowers and his goons whispering insults in the halls), and it's only gotten harder since Georgie. (Georgie really made it sink in, made him realize that they weren't really safe the way he'd always childishly thought.) But standing in that room, he hadn't pictured his own names on the posters. Of course not; how could he?

As great as the past couple days have been, Richie's tired of how weird shit has been. The hallucinations, the missing kids, the dreams, the fucking dreams, and now Eddie calling him all panicked and freaked out. He can't stand it. But it doesn't matter because it's _over_. He hasn't had the dream for almost a week, since last Sunday, and he plans to keep it that way. Eddie is freaked out over Bowers, and all the weird shit in the town is because of the water or something, and his dreams are just dreams, but it's over, and he swears to god, he's never having one again. He goes back to the movie and tries to forget all about it.

\---

It doesn't last. Of course it doesn't last. He should've known the dreams would come back.

Richie falls asleep that night with his face in his pillow and immediately sees the lights behind his eyes. Immediately feels himself falling. And the images come again. Bill, Eddie, Stan, even _Ben_ now, all terrified: Eddie crying, eyes wide as he clutches his arm protectively to his chest; Bill being held in place by a huge hand, shouting at him to, "Go!"; Stan screaming and scrambling backwards in fear, with the red dots around his face that don't look like bug bits anymore; Ben staggering to his bike with a hand pressed to his bloody shirt, bloodier than before. Beverly Marsh hovering in the air like someone in a demon-possession movie, eyes white. The clown. A flurry of red balloons under a bridge. The man slumped over the edge of the tub. Spider Stan, crawling around and cackling like a maniac. A man screaming on the floor with the words _HOME AT LAST_ carved into his stomach, like Bowers had tried to carve his name into Ben's stomach. A woman absolutely soaked with blood, her hand in the hands of the same man as they walk, but then she turns the other way and looks at _him_ , right at him, her voice tight with astonishment as she says, " _Richie_?" The clown-spider writhing, screaming, his claws flailing in a way that makes Richie wanna barf. And of course it ends the same way. Adult Eddie being skewered in front of him. Eddie pleading, saying his name. Eddie being pulled away like a ragdoll. 

Richie wakes up shaking, his face streaked with tears. " _Fuck_!" he hisses, and tumbles out of bed in a tangle of his sheets. He kicks the blankets off, stumbling to his feet, and kicks his desk so hard he feels it in his ankles. He swears again, tumbling back to the ground. "Fucking fuck," he gasps, and he's sobbing. He's clutching his foot and sobbing because he really really thought it was over. 

Once he feels like he can breathe again, once his foot stops throbbing and he's scrubbed all the tears from his cheeks, the images in the dream start to come together, start to make sense. He saw Ben and Bev. Ben and Bev, who, aside from school projects and gym class and field trips and the third grade play, he hasn't really interacted with before yesterday. And the woman in the dream, whoever the fuck she was, recognized him, talked to him. She might think she's talking to Adult Richie, like he assumes Adult Eddie always is, but aside from the Eddie part of the dream, the woman is the only other adult to really directly acknowledge him. And Richie doesn't know why, but it felt different this time. 

"What the actual _fuck_ ," he groans, and buries his face in his comforter, sprawled on the floor, still shaking despite the ridiculous heat. 

\---

Richie doesn't sleep very well for the rest of the night—he tries, unlike some nights, but he keeps jolting awake at strange sounds, and he has to resist the urge to sneak downstairs and call Eddie or something, because his mom would probably hear first and ban him from their house. And also he would have to explain what was wrong then, since he doesn't really randomly call Eddie at three a.m. very much, obviously. So he just lies in his dark room until morning, sleeping in snatches, waking before he can ever start dreaming again. He's not really in the mood to go anywhere or do anything the next morning—a rare first for him—but Bill calls him just as he's falling asleep in his Frosted Flakes and says that Bev needs them immediately over at her place. Some kind of emergency. And Richie would say no, but it's Bill. It's pretty impossible to say no to him. 

It doesn't end up mattering very much, because Bev says her dad will flip if he catches them in her apartment, and they collectively decide that Richie will be the lookout. Richie could point out that he has no idea what Bev's dad looks like, and that he can't believe he's left his house only to be abandoned outside and be lookout, but he doesn't bother. He just sits in this warm patch of sun at the bottom of the fire escape, bouncing this little rubber ball he stole from Stan against the wall so he doesn't fall asleep. He's so tired he feels like he could fall asleep right there, but he figures they'll be fast. (Something which they are most certainly _not,_ in the end, fuck that.) 

Richie's been out there for about fifteen minutes, and is admittedly getting sick of bouncing the ball against the bricks, when he hears the pound of feet on the metal stairs above him. "Took you assholes long enough," he calls, craning his neck up to look at them, but it's not his friends. It's a woman, frantically running and rounding the curves of the fire escape, her feet drumming a frantic beat. 

Richie scrambles to his feet and to the side, his shoulders pressed to the bricks, so that he's out of the woman's way. He watches the woman descend, squinting at her confusedly; he feels like he knows her from somewhere, but he can't figure out where, and then she turns towards him as she reaches the bottom, and Richie knows her immediately. It's the woman from the dream from last night, the one that knew him, that _talked_ to him. 

"Hey," Richie stammers out, stepping towards her. "Hey, lady, wait…" He tries to grab her arm, to stop her from going by, but she brushes past him hard without even looking at him. Richie's stunned at the unacknowledgement, at the fact that he couldn't even really _feel_ the lady pass, and he whirls around to watch her go, but somehow, the woman is already gone. Disappeared, like the people he saw in the creek last week.

Richie blinks hard, shaking his head rapidly and collapsing back on the stairs. He takes his glasses off and runs at his eyes. He feels like he's going insane; fucking _ghosts_. "Fuck this fucking town and whatever the fuck they put in the water," he groans, kicking the brick wall lightly and immediately wincing. His toes still hurt from last night. He can feel the images from the dream setting in, and he doesn't fucking want it, doesn't want to see his friends scared like that. He hopes his friends are done soon, because he kind of just wants to go hang out somewhere else or go home. 

It's over an hour before they show up, though, and they all smell like bleach and cleaning supplies and shit, like Eddie every third Sunday when he and his mom deep clean. Richie's halfway asleep by then, his head lolling uncomfortably on the metal rail, his neck aching. He's ready to rag on them all for taking so fucking long, like they didn't have their own personal lookout out here waiting patiently and hallucinating weird shit. But they've got a real kicker of an excuse, one that stunningly makes Richie shiver even though it's a million degrees outside. They claim that Beverly's bathroom was covered in blood. 

A shiver travels sharply up Richie’s spine and he thinks, unbidden, of the woman in the dream, the woman from outside Bev’s apartment. In the dream, she was covered in blood. 

He shakes his head hard and starts riding in lazy circles around his increasingly annoyed friends. It can’t be real, he won’t let it be real, they’ve got to be imagining it the way he’s imagining shit. “What crack are you guys smoking?” he says loudly. “Seriously, what the fuck? What kind of bullshit excuse is that?”

“C-come on, Richie,” Bill starts, but Richie cuts him off. “No, I love being a personal doorman, really. Could you idiots have taken any longer?” Eddie and Stan immediately tell him to shut up, and he says, “Okay, trash the Trashmouth, I get it. Hey, I wasn’t the one scrubbing the bathroom floor and imagining that her sink went all Eddie’s mom's vagina on Halloween.” Nope, he was just imagining made up chicks from his daily nightmares disappearing into thin air. He seriously wants to know what the fuck they’re putting in the water, they’re _all_ tripping now.

“She didn't imagine it,” says Bill, and it’s enough to make the group stop in the middle of the street. “I s-saw something, too.” 

Richie brakes abruptly, his heart pounding, unsure if he’s hoping that Bill will say he’s been having the exact same dreams or not. On one hand, if Big Bill has been seeing this bullshit, too, then he’s not going fucking insane. But on the other hand, if Bill’s had the dreams, then that makes it _real_. That means it might can happen, the things he's seen, for real.

“You saw blood, too?” Stan asks.

Bill shakes his head. “Not blood,” he says, and breaks off before continuing nervously. “I saw G-G-Georgie.”

Richie swallows hard and determinedly doesn’t look at anyone else. He has a million questions he doesn’t want to ask—like, _Hey, I’ve seen your brother, too, and a bunch of other weird shit, have you seen random grown-ups, or vanishing bug bites on Stan’s face, or Adult Eddie getting_ … But he can’t ask that shit, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“It seemed so real,” Bill continues. “I mean it seemed like him, but there was this—”

“Clown,” Eddie says suddenly in a small voice, and it’s enough to make Richie’s blood run cold. “Yeah, I saw him, too.” 

Ben nods quickly, like he’s seen this shit, too, and then Stan, and maybe Richie should be happy because he’s not the only one seeing a weird clown laughing his head off in his nightmares, but it’s real and it _can’t_ be real, it can’t fucking be real. He’s remembering Eddie’s weird phone call the night before and trying not to cuss out loud or punch something, and this should probably be the point where he says, _Hell yeah, I’ve seen the clown, he’s a weird little fucker that comes with morbid visions of our death. Any of you dipshits seen that too?_ but he can’t say that shit out loud, so instead he blurts, “Wait, can only virgins see this stuff? Is that why I'm not seeing this shit?” Fucking smooth. Good on him, he got off a good one or whatfuckingever. He hates himself a little sometimes. 

Stan’s already rolling his eyes, but Eddie’s looking confused as shit, and Richie remembers suddenly, oh _fuck_ , he told Eddie about the dreams. Fucking shit. He’s trying to think of a way to get out of this as Eddie says something like, “Wait, Rich, I thought—” and then stops mid-sentence. “Oh, shit, that's Belch Huggins’ car.” Richie looks behind him, and yep, there is it. Probably the only time in his life he’ll ever be happy to see that motherfucker’s car. “We should probably get out of here,” Eddie says. 

“Wait, isn't that the homeschool kid’s bike?” Bill asks, pointing to the mess of weeds on the side of the road. There is indeed a bike there, sloppily discarded as if someone was in a hurry. 

“Yeah, that's Mike’s," says Eddie.

“We have to help him,” Bev says immediately.

“We should?” Richie asks, already faintly regretting ever being thankful for seeing Belch’s car. This is obviously just what this absolute gem of a day needs: an ass-kicking. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Bev says pointedly, and she lets her bike drop and takes off for the woods. Everyone else follows suit, and Richie goes, too, because let’s be honest, he doesn’t know Mike well and he’s not in the mood for a fight, but this Mike guy definitely doesn’t deserve an ass-kicking either. Nobody deserves that, especially not from Bowers. He’s gonna sleep for a month when he gets home, if he can shake these fucking nightmares for five minutes.

They push through the trees and down to the creek, where they find Bowers tumbling down from where he’d pinned this guy to the ground, pushed off by a rock hurled by Bev. “Nice throw,” Stan says, and Bev says, “Thanks.” 

Mike’s pushing his way across the creek, away from Bowers and his goons, and his friends are gathering rocks like ammo. Richie grabs one of his own. Bowers has a bloody patch on his forehead where Bev hit him, which is admittedly kind of awesome. He’s looking stunned, but not for very long; he’s taunting them in a millisecond, saying something disgusting about Bev and her reputation at school. This is enough to elicit a fairly impressive war cry from Ben, who nails Bowers right in the forehead with a rock. Before Richie knows it, they’re all hurling rocks across the creek, which is definitely the way they should have been dealing with Bowers this whole fucking time. Bev is a visionary. He shouts, “ROCK WAR!” and gets fucking brained for his trouble. Let it never be said that he doesn’t get into the spirit of things.

Against all odds, they actually manage to drive the assholes off. (“It’s simple math,” Stan will say later. “Seven against one is pretty good odds," and Richie will tell him to shut the fuck up about math, he's sucking all the satisfaction out of the situation.) Bower’s shitty friends abandon him first, running off in the woods like scared little kids, and Bowers lands on the ground looking pretty pathetic. They help Mike up and leave then, after Bowers is down, but Richie hangs back and flips him off, yelling, “Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!” It’s one of his better lines, admittedly. 

They take Mike out to the Barrens, after the rock fight, walking across the fields and under the train tracks. He seems pretty shaken, and it feels like the obvious thing to do. “Thanks, guys, but you shouldn’t have done that,” he says as they walk in a long line through the fields. “He'll be after you guys now. 

“Oh, no-no-no, Bowers? He's always after us,” Eddie says. 

“I guess that's one t-t-thing thing we all have in common,” Bill offers.

“Yeah, Homeschool,” Richie chimes in, calling from the back of the line. “Welcome to the Losers Club.” (This is, again, the obvious conclusion for reasons Richie can't explain. Like somehow they all silently agree that Mike is one of them now. Seven seems like a good number; for some reason, it just feels right.)

They end up sitting around with Mike for a while before he takes off, saying he needs to get back to the farm—the farm with all the sheep that apparently supplies the town deli. He seems pretty cool. He and Eddie know each other from some summer camp at the rec last summer, and they spend at least twenty minutes exchanging stories about that, plus he has the book angle with Ben because apparently they’re both huge nerds. He’s about as shy as Ben was when they first started out with him, but he opens up easily. When he finally leaves, it’s with several more thank yous and a promise to come into town and hang out again at everyone’s encouragement. 

Richie’s relieved as hell about the whole afternoon. It’s definitely a little weird, on one hand, that they’ve adopted three new members into their group in a span of about three days, but he doesn’t mind at all. Bev, Ben, and Mike are cool, and he's more unaffected than he ever would've expected at the idea of adopting new members into their group. And he’s definitely fucking happy about the excuse to forget all that shit with Bev’s bathroom and the stupid fucking clown… Fuck that. He focuses on getting to know Mike and nursing his headache and avoiding really looking at Eddie, because he doesn’t want to talk about the dreams at all.

As usual, it doesn’t last, because Richie sees Mike in his dream that night. Of fucking course. It's the usual shit, same as always, but Mike is mixed in with everyone else. He's fighting Bowers at one point. Bowers, whose face is smeared with blood, who holds a weird-looking gun right to Mike's forehead, and Richie is briefly afraid that he's going to have to watch _another_ friend die, but Mike shoves him off, hits him with a rock and pushes him down a well. It scares the shit out of him, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a _little_ satisfying. As satisfying as Bev braining Bowers with a fucking rock. These new friends are fucking awesome, they can take Bowers down in seconds flat.

The rest is the usual pants-wetting terrifying shit, though. Ben and Bev are still there, as well as all the old familiars, and the unknown grown-ups, too. And Eddie. Of course. Of course, can't leave out that little gem. 

He wakes up crying, maybe just out of sheer frustration, rubbing his face in his pillowcase to get rid of the tears. Before today, he could tell himself that it was just dreams, hallucinations, coincidences, whatever. Some creepy little man in his head deciding to make him dream about his friends in trouble and his best friend dying over and over again, just for fun. But what he'd heard the guys say today… the blood in the bathroom, Bill seeing Georgie, the clown… Bill saw the clown, Eddie saw the clown, and Ben and Stan and maybe Bev saw the clown (hell, maybe Mike, too, he hasn’t offered his opinion yet), and if they've seen it, that makes it real. It's not all in Richie's head, it's not his imagination. It's real, and it's happening to the others, and if the clown is real, it means the other stuff might be real, too. Like Betty Ripsom's shoe. The other stuff could _happen._ Whatever is scaring Bill and Stan and Ben and Bev, Bowers attacking Mike and almost killing him… Eddie dying in a cave someday, stabbed through the chest, pleading for his help…

Richie can't stand it. He can't stand it, and the next thing he knows, he's kicking off the covers and rolling out of bed. He grabs for his flashlight in his bedside table, because he doesn't want to walk around in the house at dark anymore and he can't turn on the lights up here and wake up his parents. He turns on his flashlight and goes straight out of his room and downstairs. He doesn't even really know where he's going til he's already there: the phone downstairs in the hall. He grabs the phone and sits down on the rug with his back against the table, dialing Eddie's number without even thinking about it. He scrubs at his face and sniffles quietly, praying that Eddie won't be able to hear that he's been crying. He’s thinking he needs to tell Eddie he’s sorry he didn’t know what he meant when Eddie asked about the clown dreams, or that he didn’t say anything today; he’s thinking, _I’m sorry, Eds, but I’ve been seeing this stuff for weeks, and I was too scared to say anything, because if you guys are seeing it, too, then it’s real, and I can’t lose you._ He wipes his nose on his sleeve.

He listens to the phone ring seven times before he remembers that it's the middle of the night and Mrs. K is fucking nuts, and he rushes to hang up just as it clicks over to voicemail, Mrs. K's voice saying, "You've reached the Kaspbrak resi—" and cutting off abruptly. He fumbles with the phone, making a loud clattering sound and wincing hard, and then sags forward, his forehead against the table. What the fuck is he doing. "He's not going to die _tomorrow_ ," he hisses, and he's instantly is furious with himself because Eddie is not going to die at _all._ Not him or any of his friends, not until they're all super old and boring. No fucking way. Just because the clown part's real doesn't mean the other shit's real, and he won't _let_ it be real either way. If anyone tries to stab Eddie, or anyone else in the group, he'll stop them. He won't let it happen, not to any of them.

Anyways, all he meant was that in the dreams, Eddie only ever got stabbed as an adult. Not now, like thirty years from now. So if it happens—which it _won't_ —it's not gonna happen right now. And if it's gonna happen later, Richie will stop it. It won't happen that way. 

He considers calling someone else for a wild minute, just to talk to someone (Bill would probably pick up, his parents sleep like logs, or Stan; probably not Bev, he knows her dad, and he doesn't have Mike's or Ben's number, but maybe Eddie would pick up now, the phone probably woke him up the first time). But he immediately labels that as fucking crazy, it's the middle of the night and someone will probably strangle him if he wakes them up. He grabs his flashlight and heads reluctantly back upstairs, where he finds some bird book Stan lent him like three months ago and reads through that, because the dream has never happened twice in one night before, but he's not about to tempt fate. 

\---

The next few days are pretty normal. Richie ends up at the movies with Beverly and Ben, and manages to talk Bev into playing him in Street Fighter afterwards. (She says she's never played, but she's clearly a quick learner; she kicks his ass by the fifth game.) They all mess around with the dam one morning (Ben has some ideas, but claims to be building something "cooler" somewhere else) and take Mike down to the quarry after. He and Eddie go get root beer floats downtown. He practices Voices. He and his sister stay up late most nights watching the late-night horror movies (at least partially out of necessity, but it's probably what he'd be doing normally in the summer anyway). He doesn't dream for a few nights, and Eddie doesn't mention the late-night phone call or the fact that he didn’t mention the clown dreams to the others. All is pretty much as it should be. Bill keeps hinting around the subject of Georgie and the clown, wanting to investigate more (Bev seems interested, too), but it doesn't ever really concretely come up again. Richie is more than fine with that. 

Everything's good until the day that he and Stan end up hanging out. It's mostly by accident—Richie is biking out to the Standpipe because he’s bored and finds Stan out there with a pair of binoculars and a dogeared bird book (not the one in his room, obviously), hiding out from more bar mitzvah practice. They end up sitting up there for a couple hours, passing the binoculars back and forth idly, Richie deliberately messing up bird names to piss off Stan and Stan wordlessly rolling his eyes. They play tic-tac-toe on the blank pages at the back of the book. Richie draws a couple of dicks before Stan sees him, snatches the book back, and meticulously scribbles them out while Richie cracks up. They do that thing where they ride their bikes down the hill at full speed and don't hit their brakes til the last second—Richie calls it No-Brakes Chicken (or alternately, The Anti-Eddie Kaspbrak, because it gives Eddie a fucking aneurysm every time they do it), and Stan calls it stupid, but he still does it right alongside him. Richie nearly kills himself by jerking so hard he thinks he's gonna go over the handlebars, but it's totally worth it. 

It's a pretty good day—Richie forgets sometimes how much fun he always has with Stan. So of course, of course it ends badly. Of fucking course. He dreams again that night. 

It's different than the other dreams; that's what throws him off. It starts with all of them standing in a field: the seven of them, Mike and Bev and Ben, too. Stan's there, with his head all wrapped in bandages for some reason, and Bill's standing in front of him with something in his hand. And then he's got Stan's hand palm up, and is pulling something sharp across it, cutting his hand, what the fuck. Richie can see blood bubbling up on Stan's palm, can see Stan's face crumpling with pain. Stan's holding the bloody hand close to his body, and then the dream changes abruptly. Changes to the guy in the bathtub, the one he's seen before. 

He can tell it's the same guy, he recognizes the bathroom, but he's never actually seen the dude's face clearly before. Just brief glimpses, enough to tell he's an older dude, curly hair, dark eyes, whatever. There's something weirdly familiar about him, almost the same way that Adult Eddie seemed a little familiar before… oh. Oh fuck no.

The guy mutters something under his breath, something Richie only kind of hears—but it sounds like, "I swear, Bill." And that's when Richie _knows_. He knows who he's looking at, and he sees the blood dripping over Stan’s palms and down the porcelain sides of the tub, and he knows what he's watching. He sees the sudden blankness in older Stan's eyes, and he tries to scream. He tries to scream, and he can see Stan's dying face, and he can't scream, and he can't breathe, and he wakes up trying to scream. 

When he can finally breathe, he is crying again. He's just watched another one of his friends die; he's been watching Eddie die for weeks, and now Stan. Now he's watched Stan die. He's been seeing Stan die for weeks, and he didn't know what it was. He turns over on his stomach, stuffs the corner of the pillow in his mouth, and screams. 

He’s out of bed before he knows it, walking downstairs once again on wobbly legs without even grabbing his flashlight. He needs to talk to Stan. It is probably a horrible idea, considering how shitty the last midnight phone call went, but the Urises seem considerably less insane compared to Mrs. K, and besides that, he actually doesn’t give much of a fuck. He’s just watched one of his best friends die, _another_ one of his best friends die, and he needs to talk to Stanley right fucking now. He makes it downstairs, weaving unevenly like he’s drunk or half-asleep or sick to his stomach, and sits against the table and dials Stan’s number immediately.

It takes three calls for anyone to pick up, but Richie keeps dialing anyway, because he’s a massive asshole and he needs to know now he needs to know for sure. He had an unfair advantage with Eds, it happened when he was sleeping like five feet away so he could immediately know it wasn’t real. And Stan acted like he’d seen Bill and Eddie’s clown when they brought it up, and he absolutely does not think it’s a coincidence, and fuck fuck fuck he hates this. So he dials Stan’s number a third time and breathes an audible sigh of relief when Stan answers with a sleepy, muddled, “H’llo.” He’s okay, he's really okay. Richie figured that he would be, just like Eddie was okay, but he was still terrified that he wouldn't be.

“Stan the man,” Richie says in a shaky voice, trying to sound like he’s been laughing. “Just the guy I wanted to talk to.”

“What the fuck, Richie? Do you know what time it is?”

Richie tries not to think of blood on Stan’s hands, blood on a tile floor. “Can’t say I have the time, ol’ bean,” he says in a pathetic British Guy Voice. Oh, Stan is going to kill him.

“It is two fucking a.m. What the fuck could you have to say at two fucking a.m.?” Stan demands. 

Richie lets his head fall forward against his knees. He feels limp and dizzy, he feels like he’s going to get sick again, he wants to tell Stan and Eddie everything, he never wants them to find out about this ever. “Nothing, man, just… I had a good time with you today,” he mumbles. “That’s all, Stancakes.”

Stan doesn’t say anything for a moment, like he’s surprised. Richie can hear him yawning on the other end. “And you had to let me know that at two a.m.?”

“Obviously,” says Richie. “What other time is there?" He swallows hard and says in a rush, "Got go, Stan-Man. See ya tomorrow." And then he hangs up in a rush, cutting off Stan mid-protest, and lets his head fall to his knees. He thinks he's crying again, he thinks he's gonna throw up. He wonders if he's gonna have to keep doing this, keep watching all his friends die in horrible, horrible ways. He can't stand that idea, of watching himself lose his favorite people in the world over and over again. No fucking way. 

He drags himself up to his room even though he doesn't feel like moving for a million goddamn years, and falls asleep even though he doesn't want to because he's honestly a little terrified not to. He sleeps until mid-afternoon, when his sister wakes him up by yelling in his face that his friends are here, and he drags himself up and heads downstairs to spend some time with his favorite people in the world. And when Stan wants to know why he got a call from Richie at two in the morning, Richie plays it off like it's the greatest prank in the world, threatens to call them all at some point amid groans. He's relieved to see that the lie actually works; he really doesn't wanna try and explain. 

\---

The next time he has the dream, it's mostly the same. His friends terrified or hurt, the clown hovering around giggling and being creepy. Spider Stan, which hits differently this time around. The cavern, the three doors. Stan dying. Eddie getting stabbed. Eddie slumped against a wall, blood smeared down his chin, his eyes blank in the same way Stan's were. 

And then Richie's suddenly outside of his body, watching himself. But not the normal him—the _adult_ him. He recognizes himself immediately, even as an old dude. He's touching Eddie's face, speaking to him in a soft voice, arguing with the people gathered around him—Richie can't make out their faces, but he can tell that they're trying to make the adult him leave. Leave Eddie behind. The adult him is saying, "He's hurt, we have to get him out of here," and Richie is stricken with a sudden fury that they are going to leave Eddie _behind._ He doesn't understand what's happening, but he's seen Stan die and Eddie die, and now they're not even gonna _try_ to help him? The ground's shaking, the walls of the dream-cavern rattling, and Richie's filled with a sudden fury, and he shouts, " _Help him_!" 

Adult him is sobbing now, clutching Adult Eddie in a close embrace, and Eddie's all limp in his arms, and the other people are pulling at Adult Richie, trying to pull him away, and Richie bellows, "Let me help him! You motherfuckers, let me help him!" But they can't hear him, and the dream cavern is crumbling, and they've got Adult Richie by the arms, pulling him away from Eddie as he screams, "We can still help him! Guys, we can still help him!" and Richie wants to tell them to _listen,_ but they can't hear him, he's not really even here. He wants to wake up. He just wants to wake up. He collapses back on his ass, crying like a child, and Eddie is dead here, Stan is dead, and this shouldn't feel so real. He scrubs at his face, shoving up his glasses, sobbing so hard he can't breathe, and then he feels a hand come down on his shoulder. Hears a voice say softly, "Richie?"

Richie whirls, scrambling on his knees, and sees the woman from the other dreams, the woman from outside Bev's apartment. She's bent down with her hand on her shoulder, a mix of confusion and concern on her face, and she's looking at him like she knows him. "Richie?" she says again, and Richie knows then. 

He jerks awake right then, muttering a groggy, "Beverly?" His face is wet all over again; he wipes it off with the sheet and blinks up at the ceiling. What the fuck. What the _fuck_. Bev's there now. Beverly Marsh is there, Adult Beverly, and Eddie and Stan are still dying as adults every night, and they… they had to drag him away from Eddie. Whoever they are, they pulled Adult Richie away, wouldn't let him help him. They made him leave Eddie there all alone. And it hasn't happened yet, but he's seen how it happens, and Adult Bev knows him, and he doesn't fucking understand any of this. It doesn't make sense. He can't watch it happen anymore. 

He turns over, facing the wall, wrapping the sheet tight around him and screwing his eyes shut. Fuck. If you'd asked him a month or two ago, he would've been happy to hear that he still keeps up with Stan and Eddie as a boring adult. Fuck, Beverly too, she's fucking cool. He might have even had some hope that Eddie… that Eddie and him might've left Derry together, might've…

No. He presses his face into the mattress. He can't think like that. And anyways, it _doesn't fucking matter_ , because Stan dies and Eddie dies and he leaves them behind, and he has to figure out how to stop it, how to make sure that never, ever happens, even if it isn't happening now. 

(They left him behind. Whoever those people were—and Richie thinks he knows who they might be, except he can't think about it because it's too horrifying to comprehend that they might be who he thinks—they left Eddie alone, and they made Adult Richie leave him, too. They dragged him away. He couldn't help him. Richie's told himself that he'll protect Eddie or any of his friends if anything tries to hurt them, but he can't do that. He lets Eddie die someday, and they won't even let him try to help. He leaves him all alone in a cave.)

He sleeps in snatches for the rest of the night, jolting awake if his mind ever shifts towards any part of the dream. He gets up at five a.m. and goes downstairs to watch cartoons and eat Frosted Flakes like he's eight again. He's wrapped up in his mom's afghan and drinking the sugary milk out of the bowl when his mom finds him. "You're up early," she comments. 

"Couldn't sleep," Richie says truthfully—except he says it with a mouthful of milk, so it comes out muffled and dribbles down his chin a little. He wipes milk away with the back of his hand. 

His mom looks at him with concern suddenly, kneeling down in front of him. "You look horrible, honey. Bags under your eyes, and you're very pale… Are you getting sick?" She feels his forehead with her cool palm. 

Richie might've shrugged his mom off any other morning, but this morning, he doesn't feel like it this morning. He's too tired for that. "Why, I feel just fine, ma'am," he says in his best Southern Belle Voice, because he can't tell her the _truth_. "Peachy keen. I feel better than an apple tree in the spring."

His mother smiles. "Well, you don't have a fever, and your Southern accent is getting better even if your metaphors aren’t," she says mildly, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Get some rest, okay, honey? You look like you haven't slept in a week."

That's not far off from the truth. Richie just nods and turns back to _The Smurfs._ He's got a pretty good Papa Smurf Voice, he thinks. Stan insists it's shit, but Richie refuses to believe that. 

He waits til nine a.m. to leave. He eats two more bowls of cereal and a Pop-Tart, he flips channels til he's sick of it, and he makes himself wait to leave until it's actually nine. Then he bikes over to Eddie's. He grabs his copy of _Back to the Future_ on tape and three more packs of Pop-Tarts as a peace offering and rides straight there. They're supposed to meet up later, Ben has something to show them, but he doesn't want to wait til then. 

He's slightly worried Mrs. K is going to answer the door—he isn't sure whether she dislikes him or is just generally prickly at the idea of Eddie playing outside or with other people, but either way, he doubts she'll be real welcoming at nine a.m. But luckily Eddie comes to the door instead. He looks half-asleep, his hair standing up, his eyes sleep-fogged. "Richie?" he mutters.

"Good morning, Eds my good fellow!" Richie says in his cheeriest British Voice, trying his damndest to hide the fact that he's incredibly relieved to see him and kind of really wants to hug him right now. "Might I come in?"

Eddie rubs at his eyes sleepily, blinking at him. "It's early," he says. "Aren't we supposed to meet after lunch?" 

Richie adjusts his glasses, suddenly embarrassed, thinking of the stupid late night phone call that he hopes Eddie never finds out about. "I was bored," he says, somewhere between bluntness and embarrassment. "Thought maybe we could watch a movie or something." He waves _Back to the Future_ in the air. "I can't believe you _still_ haven't seen this," he adds, a little mockingly. 

Eddie raises his eyebrows, looking back and forth between the tape and the Pop-Tarts in the bag hanging off the handlebars of his bike. "Are those the cinnamon kind?" 

Richie nods, tossing the bag to him. "All yours, Spaghetti."

"Don't _call_ me that," says Eddie, but he's smiling a little. He takes out one of the Pop-Tarts and hands it back to Richie. "We can't be loud, my mom is still asleep. This movie had better be good."

They watch sitting side by side on the couch, eating the Pop-Tarts over TV trays and little plates—which is a completely ridiculous way to eat them, but Richie knows better than to argue. At least Eddie has the good sense to toast them, Bill eats them cold like a fucking _animal_ . After he's finished eating, Richie sprawls out on the carpet on his stomach; a few minutes later, Eddie has moved to sit down beside him. Richie's seen this movie so many times, he knows every word in some of the scenes, and he graciously reenacts a few for Eddie. He does the voices and everything. Eddie rolls his eyes and pretends he isn't laughing under his breath, muttering stuff about wanting to actually see the movie. Richie pretends to watch the movie, too, but he's mostly reveling in the fact that Eddie is _here_ and _alive_ and he hasn't left him alone to die in a cave, fuck no. He will never ever ever do that, not to his best friend. He's not going to let it _happen,_ because it's thirty years away and he won't let Eddie, or Stan, get hurt in the first place and he definitely won't leave them alone to die. 

The movie miraculously manages to end before Eddie's mom wakes up and takes over the TV. They shift upstairs to Eddie's room to read comics, Eddie threatening death if Richie bends a single one. They sit on opposite sides of the bed, their legs knocking together in the middle, arguing first over who gets the new issue first, and then trying and failing at passing it back and forth, before Eddie sighs and finally just flips around, flopping down next to Richie and holding it up so they can read it at the same time. Richie doesn't think he breathes the entire time they're up there. They hold the comics between them and read until it's time to go meet the others in the Barrens. 

\---

Ben, it turns out, _has_ been building something cooler than a dam. A clubhouse, to be exact, dug out of the ground in the woods by the Barrens. It's cool as shit, rigged out with a hammock and everything; Richie’s definitely seeing the benefit of adopting new people into the group, and he kind of loves Ben for building it for them. He’s kind of considering sneaking over here during the day to sleep, for no reason other than it seems a little impossible that the dreams could come in the daylight. (And maybe a little bit because it feels safe here, or at least safer than it’s felt in his own bedroom. But then again, he had the dream in Stan’s living room, and it was one of the worst times ever, right there away from his bedroom, so what the fuck does he know.) 

They end up hanging out there for most of the day because why the fuck wouldn’t they? It’s about the only place in town where it’s easy to avoid people. Bev and Eddie split a little earlier because of their parents, and Bill seems as distracted as he has ever since the day of the rock fight, but most of them stay in the clubhouse as long as they possibly can until it starts to get dark, and they have to race home to make town curfew. 

Richie manages to get a moment to talk to Bev alone right before she leaves. He goes back and forth on it for most of the afternoon—he doesn’t know her very well and doesn’t want to come off as a fucking weirdo; but then again, what if she knows something, what if she can _explain_ this shit? What if that’s really Regular Bev in there, inside Dream Adult Bev Who Recognized Him, and he’s just appearing as his scrawny current self instead of a hotter, upgraded version (Adult Him didn’t look great in the cave, but that’s probably because it’s a fucking _cave_ ) because life sucks? Maybe she can explain what’s going on. Maybe they can be in on it together, understand these weird ass dreams and figure out how to prevent them—he figures they all must know each other as adults, him and Beverly and Stan and Eddie, because why else would they be seeing each other so much? So if they do, he and Bev could work together to protect Eddie and Stan. But what if she thinks he’s a fucking creep and splits—which would suck partially because Bev is pretty damn cool and has a badass throwing arm, and partially because Ben and Bill would probably give him angry, wounded puppy looks for like a _year_ for driving her off. He can’t take that shit. So really, there is absolutely no good option, but whatever the option, he probably still needs to talk to Bev. 

He still hasn’t made a decision until Bev announces that she’s leaving, and then he decides that he has to. He waits approximately two minutes after she’s left before announcing that he needs to take a leak and ducks after the clubhouse before taking off after her. 

She’s not very far, but she has the advantage of being on a bike, so Richie has to kind of yell, “Bev!” at the top of his lungs a few times before she turns around, if only to spare himself racing after her like a maniac. He jogs up to meet her, panting a little from the running (definitely doesn’t want to be close enough for them to hear him from the clubhouse), and says, “Hey, Bev,” before realizing that he hasn’t planned this far ahead. 

“What’s up, Richie?” Bev says.

She’s looking at him kind of funny. But she’s smiling a little, like she thinks he’s funny-weird and not creepy-weird, so that’s a good sign. Richie comes up with, “Can I bum a cigarette?” 

Bev shrugs and pulls her pack out of her pocket. “Wouldn’t it mess with Eddie’s asthma to smoke it down there?” she asks, passing him one.

“Who says I’m going to smoke it down _there_?” Richie says, and tucks it into his pocket just as Bev pulls out her lighter and holds it out in offering. “It’s, uh, for later. You know. Midnight smokes, blow off some steam.” He makes a weird sucking sound that probably sounds nothing like actually smoking. 

Bev raises her eyebrows, smiling a little. “Whatever you say, Trashmouth,” she says, and swings the front of her bike around like she’s leaving. 

Richie blurts, “Hey, uh, do you ever get weird dreams?” and instantly regrets it. She’s definitely gonna think he’s weird now. “Like, uh, the blood in your bathroom thing,” he finishes lamely. 

“The blood wasn’t a dream,” Bev says, a little defensive now, swinging herself back up on her bike. 

“Yeah, right,” Richie says, because he’s pretty sure he knows it wasn’t, even though he leaned in pretty hard to the idea that the blood was fake the day of. If he didn’t know then, he definitely knows now, and he doesn't want to be an ass. Bev was all covered in blood in the dreams. “I just meant like… a dream version of that. Like the blood thing, but while you’re asleep.” 

Bev shakes her head, balancing with one foot on the ground. “No, it’s just been the blood thing. I’ve really gotta get home, Richie, okay? My dad’s gonna be home soon.”

“Okay,” Richie says, a little relieved. She clearly doesn’t know what he’s talking about, which means she’s definitely not inside the Adult Bev, and he really doesn’t want to sit here and try to explain the dreams to her. Definitely fucking not. He's glad she's not actually asking questions. He bids her goodbye in his best Fifties Private Eye Voice, tipping an invisible hat: “Thanks for the cigar, Miss Marsh.” 

She rolls her eyes but she’s laughing a little. “You owe me a smoke, Tozier,” she says, and then she’s kicking off from the ground, and she’s gone. 

Richie’s a little worried that it’s going to come up again, but it doesn’t, and he’s relieved as hell. If he keeps acting weird like this around his friends, he’s going to have to explain what’s going on, and that’s about the last thing he wants to do. He’s not telling Stan and Eddie that he’s seen them die, multiple times; he’s not telling Eddie that clearly nothing’s being done to save him. He’s not telling any of them that, because it’s not going to _happen_ , and that’s the end of it.

\---

They start hanging out in the clubhouse about every single day—because again, it definitely makes the most sense. Ben’s constantly buzzing around the place trying to tidy up, make sure no more of the ceiling falls through. Stan brings shower caps with the intention of keeping spiders out of everyone’s hair. (Which Richie thinks is ridiculous. But Eddie is pretty much the only one who agrees with him on that one.) Eddie comes up with some ridiculous rule over limiting time in the hammock that Richie is sure no one is going to follow, and immediately climbs into the fucking thing _with_ Richie when he won’t get out. His legs are too warm against Richie's side, his stupid feet shoved in Richie's face, and Richie's heart is pounding too hard. He tries to focus on literally anything else, tries to hide behind his comic and hopes he isn't fucking blushing or something like that, but he kind of doesn't want Eddie to move, ever. 

His friends start talking about leaving Derry and Florida and whether or not they'll all be friends when they're adults, and Richie does not say, _Well, I guess me, Stanley, Eds, and Bev all still hang out, but jury's out on everyone else._ Eddie shoves Richie's glasses off with a socked foot, and Richie pretends to be annoyed, gropes around on the ground and finds his glasses and starts reading his comic again. His friends are still talking around him, and for once, he's content to just let it happen. He's fucking exhausted. He's yawning before he knows it, the words on the comic blurring, and he's too warm from where he's lying next to Eddie, and his eyes are growing heavy, and before he knows it, he's asleep. 

He only figures out he's asleep when he starts to dream, and finds himself back in the cave. It doesn't start the same way it always does; there's no rush of rapid images. He just opens his eyes and finds himself back in the cave, standing down in the dark and looking up at a cluster of adults holding hands in a circle up on this pedestal of rock or whatever. They're chanting something. Richie scrambles a little closer, shoving at his glasses, and is able to see who's up there. Adult Eddie and Adult Bev, and Adult Him, but no Adult Stan, though, he must be dead already. Richie winces and rubs at his forehead, cause he's not gonna think about it, no fuckin' way. There's still three other guys in the circle besides them, though, and it takes a minute, but in one weird rush, Richie recognizes them. It's his other friends, it's Bill and Ben and Mike, and he's kinda suspected that they were there, too, ever since he figured out that Stan and Bev were there, too and saw the other people there when Adult Him got dragged away from Adult Eddie. He never got a look at their faces, so he wasn't ever sure, but he can see them now, and he knows them immediately, and he's wondering why he didn't figure it out before. It feels so obvious now; of course Ben and Mike and Bill would still be around, if the rest of them were. (He thinks after the whole getting-dragged-away dream, a part of him didn't want to believe that it was them.) Anyways: all of them are there. All of them are there except Stan, and the realization makes his nose sting like he’s gonna cry. 

Richie climbs a little closer instead of crying and squints at his grown-up friends, figuring none of them can see him. He's kinda right in the line of sight for Adult Bill and Mike, but they're not really looking at him, their eyes look shut. They're all chanting some shit, something about, "Turn light into dark," or something like that, except for Mike, who's chanting in what must be some other language. Richie wants to crack a joke about whatever fucking nerd shit is going on, but aside from the fact that no one will hear the joke, it's hard to be in a joking mood, not when he knows Stan must be dead and that Eddie's about to die, too. Maybe he could be wrong, he hopes he's wrong, but he recognizes the hoodie Eddie is wearing, recognizes the little bandage on his cheek. Richie's guessing it'll happen soon. 

He shakes his head hard and tries not to think about it, tries to focus on the fact that literally everyone got hotter but him, what the _fuck_? What fucking luck is that? He climbs a little closer to try and get a better look at whatever the fuck is going on, but he can't really see, the bodies are blocking his view. Mike's doing something weird in the middle, and everyone's opening their eyes. Richie cranes his neck, sure they can't see him, and finds himself looking straight at Adult Bev, who is looking back at him. Her eyes widen like she recognizes him, and he immediately scrambles back out of sight, his heart pounding. 

The next thing he hears is a weird rubbery sound. His head shoots back up, and he sees a red balloon straining at the top of some weird thing in the middle of the circle. He doesn't know why, but the sight makes his mouth go dry. He watches as the balloon grows, getting bigger and bigger, driving his friends and Adult Him back. Richie moves back, too, slipping a few feet when he loses his footing. He watches the balloon grow bigger, hears Adult Him yelling Eddie's name, and his insides twist. He crawls back a few more feet, unable to take his eyes off the growing balloon, until it suddenly pops, louder than Richie ever would've expected. He yelps, jerking hard and tumbling back, and opens his eyes to find himself back in the wildly rocking hammock in the clubhouse. 

Eddie is still sitting across from him, and he's rubbing his jaw and glaring. "What the fuck, Rich, you kicked me in the face!"

Richie blinks hard and shakes his head. He looks out at the rest of the clubhouse and finds his friends all staring at him: Ben working on nailing some shit, Bill, Bev, and Mike playing cards on the floor, Stan reading his bird book on the rope swing. He blinks again, and for a second, they’re gone, and he’s surrounded by their adult selves. Adult Bill, Bev, Ben, Mike, and Eddie holding Stan’s stupid shower caps, looking down at them sadly. Stan not there. 

Richie shudders hard, pressing his shoulders back against the fabric of the hammock like he’s trying to move away, and when he looks up, they’re all back to normal. They’re all kids again, Stan’s still there, and they’re looking at him like he’s nuts.

"You o-o-okay, Richie?" Bill asks, putting down his handful of cards. 

"Fine," Richie says, sitting up straighter and ignoring the slight stupid quiver in his voice. "Just dreamin' about Eddie's mom." He shoots an uneven wink at Eddie, who rolls his eyes and mutters something about him being an asshole. 

"You sounded like you were having a nightmare," Stan adds, laying the book flat on his knees. 

"No fucking way, Stan the Man." Richie leans back in the hammock, trying to sound casual. "That dream was fucking nothing." And yeah, it was freaky—he's got a weird confirmation that he knows all his best friends thirty years from now, and that they're doing weird rituals in a cave probably after losing Stan and before losing Eddie—but compared to his usual shit, it _is_ fucking nothing. The thing that really freaks him out is seeing their adult selves sitting fucking here in the clubhouse around him. They’re the same people, he realizes, that he saw in the Barrens that one time; he’s been seeing them for a while. The ghosts of people who haven’t even died or been here yet. That is definitely not how ghosts work, but ghosts feels like the appropriate term, like the only real thing to call them.

The conversation is more or less ended when Richie blows off their concern, but when Richie folds up his creased comic that he fell asleep on and looks back at Eddie, he sees a confused, almost _worried_ look on his face, like maybe he’s thinking about Richie’s stupud clown dream comment again. He tips his head at Richie as if to ask, _What the fuck?_ Richie shrugs and reopens the comic, pretending that he's good, he's cool. But behind the crumpled pages of the comic, his mind is racing. He wants to know why they're all together decades from now—it's the answer to Stan's question from earlier, and Richie wants to be _happy_ about that, actually, he doesn't wanna lose the best friends he's ever had. But also, he'd very much like to never think about this shit again, because with this shit comes his friends' deaths and whatever all that other freaky shit he's been seeing is, and he can't take it. He wants to forget it all, but he's getting more and more worried he'll never be able to. 

Luckily, he gets a good excuse to forget the whole ordeal, because Ben abandons his hammering to join in the next card game, and then Bill's prodding the rest of them to come play, too, and he's boasting about how well he can whip their ass in poker. It's easy to forget, except for the fact that they're all sitting in a circle. The same as in his dream. The only difference—and it does make all the fucking difference in the world—is that Stan is there. They're all together, the way it should be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter count went up a little bit because i underestimated how fucking long this thing is getting. hopefully i can contain it from here lol.
> 
> warning for brief references to child abuse in the context of eddie and dorsey corcoran from the book.

Three nights after his fucking freakout in the clubhouse, the dreams change in a way that throws Richie for a fucking loop. He's still not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. 

Ben, very nervously, invites them all to sleep over at his place. Eddie gets his mom's permission because Ben is nerdy enough to charm the hell out of Mrs. K, and Mike rides over after bringing deliveries into town, and Bev waits til her dad is passed out and sneaks over, telling Ben's mom she's just there for dinner. Ben's mom seems sweet and only a little hovery, and definitely very excited about Ben having people over. She makes snacks and asks them all about a dozen questions each before leaving for a late shift, and Richie only razzes on Ben a little bit. It's very dorky and cute. 

It's admittedly pretty sweet to hang out at someone's house without their parents hovering around. They can actually be loud; they can watch R-rated movies without protest. Richie knows most of their parents would flip if they knew they were over here without supervision, but he can't bring himself to care. It's too much fun to worry, he tells Eddie more than once, pinching his cheeks until Eddie is swatting his hands away. They eat total crap all night and argue idly over the remote and nearly come to blows over checkers matches. Bev blows cigarette smoke out an opened window and insists she'll be fine to ride home after town curfew, even with Ben and Bill's offers to go with her. Ben shows Mike his serial killer Derry history walls and—because apparently Mike's dad did a lot of local history research when Mike was a kid, and Mike's still got all his stuff—they talk for nearly an hour about Derry history while Richie, Stan, and Bev silently argue over the virtues of throwing pillows at their heads. No one mentions the stupid clown, even though they come close a couple times. Bill's still anxious to discuss the subject, Richie can see it in his eyes, and he figures they'll probably have to talk to it at some point, but he doesn't really wanna think about that yet. He wants to pretend that it can still be a pretty normal summer. 

Normally, Richie's pretty good at sleepovers—he's the one who stays up til four fucking a.m., practically vibrating from caffeine and sugar consumption, and drawing dicks or whatever on the arms or ankles of whoever has fallen asleep. But the dreams have seriously fucked his sleep schedule, if that wasn't pretty obvious in the realm of the whole falling-asleep-in-the-clubhouse incident. He's been chugging soda all night in an attempt to stay awake, but he's still exhausted by midnight. It doesn't help that he's jammed on the couch between Bev and Eddie, squished in on either side by Ben and Mike—and yes, the couch is way too small for five people. Bill is sprawled out over one arm of the couch, exchanging passion-fueled (gross) looks with Bev, and Stan is sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, so it's pretty tight on all ends, and Richie is warm as fuck. They're watching one of the _Jaws_ movies, and Richie's getting stupid tired, his arm all pressed up against Eddie's, and he's trying to keep his eyes open, but he's yawning like crazy and he can't do it anymore. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he's sitting on Ben's couch alone. His friends are gone. 

Richie shoots up, sitting up straight, and scans the room. It still looks empty at first, but in his second scan, he sees someone else, standing in the corner by the TV. Adult Bev, looking a little stunned as she takes in the room herself. Richie briefly considers jumping behind the couch and hiding, but he decides that's stupid; he needs answers, and he's getting them _right now._ He hops to his feet determinedly, and that's when Adult Bev sees him. 

"Richie?" she asks. "Are you okay? Wh—are we in Ben's old living room? Why do you look thirteen?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Richie snaps. "Maybe because I _am_ thirteen? Why do _you_ look super old?"

Adult Bev laughs a little, like she's uncomfortable and also possibly amused. Richie wonders if he's funnier in the future, or if Adult Bev just laughs easier. "Okay, I'm guessing you're _not_ the Richie I talked to on the phone this afternoon," she mutters under her breath. "You're from that summer… 1989? Are you dreaming this in 1989?"

"No fucking duh, when else would I be dreaming this?" Richie crosses his arms, shooting Adult Bev a glare—he's already figured out she's not the same as _his_ Bev, who he's not mad at, but he figures this Beverly has some fucking explaining to do. 

"2017," Adult Bev says simply, twisting something around her finger. Richie squints and sees that it's a fucking engagement ring. Oh great, she and Bill are probably getting hitched in the future and turning even more nauseating than ever. He has a flurry of questions for her, but she's still talking, sounding confused. "I-I'm not sure how this keeps happening, why I keep seeing you—I thought I was done with the fucking Deadlight dreams, but I guess it would have to be that. That's what Mike thinks it might be…"

"What the fuck, you and Adult Mike are sitting around talking about me?" Richie explodes, furious. "What the fuck is _happening_ here? Fucking 2017? What happens in the fucking cave? W-w-what happens to make Stan, a-and Eddie die, why do they fucking die?" He's nearly screaming, his voice squeaking pathetically, his hands curled into fists by his sides. It's on the list of the times he's been angriest in his whole life, but he knows he must look pathetic to Adult Bev, an annoying little teenager screaming shit. He doesn't care though. He's still screaming, "What the fuck? Why does it happen? I've been dreaming it for fucking weeks and I still don't know! Why—" His voice breaks here, goddamn, he's gonna cry. "Why did all of you make Adult Me _leave_ Eddie in the sewers?" he hisses, and scrubs frantically at his cheeks. "When he was _dying_? Why—why would you do that?"

Adult Bev's face crumples, and she sinks bonelessly into a chair. "Richie," she says in a voice that makes it sound like _she's_ gonna cry, and doesn't finish. 

Richie drops to the couch, too, swipes at his eyes and takes a deep breath. "W-what the fuck happens to us, Bev?" he says softly. "Why… why do we all still hang out? What are we fighting, what kills Eddie and Stan? What the fuck is up with the _clown_?"

Adult Bev laughs again, and she definitely sounds like she's kinda crying. "Richie," she says softly, "w-where are you in 1989? In that summer? What's happened so far?"

Richie blinks, shoving his glasses up to wipe his eyes. "What do you mean?" he demands. 

"I mean, h-have we started hanging out yet? Have Ben and I joined the group? Have we met Mike yet? Have we, uh." Adult Bev's jaw works back and forth, and she's twisting her ring again. "Have we gone into Neibolt yet?"

"Neibolt? That weird street with the creepy-ass crack house? Why the fuck would we go there?" Richie scoffs. But Bev's face just looks concerned. Richie's stomach twists, and he blurts, "Bev? Bevvie? What happens at Neibolt?"

Adult Bev clears her throat and says gently, sounding like his mom when he comes home with a black eye or something, "Richie…" 

"What happens, Bev, c'mon, you have to tell me!" Richie scrambles off the couch, towards Bev, pleading like a baby. "You have to tell me why—" he tries, but the image crumbles like wet bread then, going all dark and to pieces, and he can't see or hear Bev anymore. He's in a weird shitty room and his friends are screaming, he's in Stan's bathroom with blood on the floor, he's in the cave and blood is dripping out of Eddie's mouth and he's screaming Eddie's name. 

He's on Ben's couch again, under a blanket that someone threw over him, Eddie fast asleep with his head on Richie's shoulder and their arms all jammed together and numb between their bodies. The movie's still on, and someone is still wrestling the stupid shark. Bill and Ben and Bev are gone, and Stan and Mike are asleep in their sleeping bags. Someone has drawn a huge dick on Richie's ankle. 

Richie's shaking all over. He extracts his arm and tucks the blanket tighter around him and Eddie before putting his arm around Eddie's back. He can't bring himself to care too much; he'll move it if Ben and Bill get back soon, but everyone else is asleep, and he's tired of watching Eddie die. "Goddamn it, Adult Bev," he mutters to the empty room. "You gotta give me something to work with here." 

Adult Bev does not answer, of course, because she's from the future, and it's probably just Richie's imagination, anyway. He leans back into the couch, Eddie's face turned into his shoulder, shuts his eyes, and goes to sleep, not bothering to even move away from Eddie. He doesn't care, he doesn't care, he doesn't care. In the morning, he'll hug Stanley abruptly while they search for syrup in Ben's pantry and won't explain why.

\---

"Hey, Eds," Richie says on the bike ride home tomorrow—Eddie looked a little freaked out when he said he was gonna ride home, so Richie offered to ride along immediately. "D'you, uh… do you remember the clown shit you and the guys were going on about?"

Eddie's face shutters up like windows before a hurricane, and he says, "Yeah, sure, but why are _you_ bringing it up? I thought you didn't believe us about it. You acted like we were fucking nuts."

"Cause it _sounds_ made-up," Richie says immediately, defensive. "I just… thought it sounded kinda like those dreams I used to have."

"I thought they were gone," Eddie says quietly. "You said they stopped. You didn’t tell the others about them when they said they’d seen it, too."

"They _did_ stop," says Richie, coasting without pedaling, pretending he isn't tense from head to toe. Pretending he isn't lying through his teeth. "What do you take me for, Spaghetti? They're _loooong_ gone."

"Okay, fine, so why are you bringing up the stupid clown?" Eddie says, pedaling hard to keep up with him. 

Richie shrugs, muscles tight. "Bill's fucking obsessed. He thinks this clown shit you guys have seen is the reason Georgie went missing. Don't you think he's gonna, like, make us all go clown hunting?"

Eddie clenches his jaw and shakes his head hard. "No," he says firmly. "No, I hope not. I-I… I never want to see anything like that ever again."

Richie clutches at the handlebar of his bike and says nothing. _I understand, Eds,_ he wants to say. _I never want to see it again either, but that's not happening, because I see it almost every night. And I don't ever want to see it again, either, because I'm terrified that if we go looking for this clown, then you and Stan will die thirty years from now._

"I mean, do _you_ think Bill's gonna want to look for the clown? I don't think anybody else is gonna want to do that besides Bill. Poking around in the sewers is one thing, but looking for some weird… clown…" Eddie breaks off, shaking his head again. "I don't wanna do that. You don't wanna do that, do you?"

"No way, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie says immediately. "It's summer! I've got better things to do than chase ghost clowns or whatever the fuck it is."

"Why the fuck would it be a _ghost_ , what the fuck? You think it's just some… ghost clown with a ghost leper buddy who can make blood explode out of a sink or whatever?"

"Bill saw Georgie, right? A _ghost_ . And a _leper buddy_? What the fuck are you talking about, Eds, what's that?"

"Shut the fuck up, dickwad, you didn't see what I saw."

"I don't think leprosy is much of an issue anymore, Eds," Richie says lightly. 

Eddie flips him off. "What the fuck do you know, you didn't see it! You just had some weird dreams or whatever, it's not the same. It’s not real."

Richie's front wheel hits a bump too hard, and he bites down accidentally on his lower lip. Copper bursts in his mouth, and he winces. "Yeah, you're right," he mutters, because what the fuck else is he gonna say. "Not the same at all."

They coast to a stop in front of Eddie's house, Richie braking so hard his gears squeak. Eddie's giving him the same weird look that he's been getting a lot over the past few weeks, stupid goddamn dreams. "You good, Rich?" he asks. 

"Yeah," Richie says in a lisping voice, wiping the blood away with the back of his wrist. "Bit my lip. Hey, you want to go to the movies later? They've got _Nightmare on Elm Street 5_ ." And the subject is changed efficiently, and he's glad to move on, because he doesn't want to think about this anymore. Richie can't even blame Eddie, because he doesn't _know,_ of course he doesn't know. And Richie won't tell him, or Stan or Bev either. He really just wants to forget it. 

\---

Richie has the dream two more times before the end of the week. The second time is particularly nasty; he has it right after he hears about Ed Corcoran, the latest victim of the clown or the serial killer or whatever is making kids disappear. He's one of the kids in their grade, one of the ones Richie's sort of always just known forever, even if he doesn't know him personally. He was the other Eddie in their kindergarten class, Eddie C. and Eddie K., before Eddie C. shortened it to just Ed. He's more familiar to Richie for being the other kid to lose a brother this year; his little brother Dorsey died last fall, a couple months before Georgie. (He even knew Georgie from school. Derry Elementary's third grade class had a rough '88.) The only difference was that Dorsey's stepdad was the one who killed him. It was never confirmed, he was never arrested, but everyone knew it was him. Ed's been a mess ever since, as bad as Bill. Maybe even worse, because he's never had that hope Bill's still clinging to. 

Richie hasn't seen Ed since school got out—why would he, they run in different circles—but he's still shocked when his mom tells him that Ed's missing. Just like Betty Ripsom. Apparently he's been gone for a couple days, but Ed's stepdad wouldn't let his mom report it. And now everyone's thinking that he's probably dead because it's been so goddamn long. Richie hasn't really hung out with Ed Corcoran since they both went out for soccer in sixth grade, but it still creeps him out to find out that he's missing. Another one is gone, another person from his school missing. Every time he hears about someone going missing, he thinks about how easily it could be one of them next time. His nightmares coming true thirty years early. 

Richie's parents leave to join a search party with firm instructions to stay inside, and Richie doesn't even have the energy to argue. He and his sister park themselves in the living room in front of the TV, and he resolves to sleep down there, childishly hoping the sounds of the TV will stop him from dreaming. 

It doesn't work, of course. He wakes up hours later curled up on the floor shaking all over, the TV crackling with static, tears bubbling up in his eyes leftover from the fucking dream. Somewhere past the walls of his house, he can hear voices calling Ed Corcoran's name. It’s enough to keep him up for the rest of the night. Especially when he finds out how they found Ed the next morning. Arm chewed off or some shit like that. Jesus fucking Christ.

Richie can tell that it’s on the others' minds when they meet the next day in the midst of the annual Fourth of July festival downtown (not postponed or anything, of course, gotta love Derry; it’s not even the Fourth yet, that’s not til tomorrow). He and Eddie find the rest of them clustered around Ed Corcoran’s Missing poster, sandwiched right on top of Betty Ripsom’s. Richie tries to keep it light, joke about the whole stupid thing, but he suspects that this is finally gonna be the thing that pushes them back into Georgie-searching or clown-searching, and he’s not ready for that shit. Not yet. 

“I actually think it will end,” Ben says—in reference to the kid disappearances, Richie can only assume. “For a little while, at least.”

“What do you mean?” Bev asks.

“So I was going over all my Derry research, and I charted out all the big events,” says Ben. “The Ironworks explosion in 1908, the Bradley Gang in ‘35, and the Black Spot in ‘62, and now kids being…” He stops there, but they all know what he’s thinking. He continues, “I realized this stuff seems to happen every—” 

“Twenty-seven years,” Bill finishes with him. 

Richie looks down at his shoes immediately, his mouth dry. It shouldn’t mean anything because twenty-seven is such a weird number, who came up with that? But it seems too close to the number he’s kind of had in his head ever since he started seeing his friends as adults: thirty. Which might be totally inaccurate, because he’s shitty with ages above like teenagers, but they all seemed a little too old to only be ten or twenty years away. Maybe it’s forty, he doesn’t know. But thirty. Thirty was what he landed on, and twenty-seven is not far off from that. He swallows hard and says, “Twenty-seven, where the fuck did _that_ come from?” 

“Twenty-seven is a weird number,” Ben offers. “Like the 27 Club, all those celebrities who died at twenty-seven.” They’re walking across the street now, over to the park, towards the giant-ass Paul Bunyan statue. 

“You think the amount of years between these killings has to do with a bunch of celebrities who died at twenty-seven?” Richie takes off half his ice cream cone in one bite, speaking through a mouthful of vanilla. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“None of this makes any sense,” Bev says, tugging on the key she wears around her neck. “Why should the amount of years make sense?” 

“I t-t-think on some level, it might m-make sense,” Bill says. “L-like on a cosmic level or something.”

“A _cosmic level_ ? What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?" Richie licks a drip of vanilla off of his arm, very aware that he should probably shut up, but also aware that it’s pretty impossible for him to shut up when he’s this nervous. It’s half the reason Bowers and Bowers-adjacent shitheads are always punching him in the face. 

“Maybe it’s magic or something,” Ben offers as they settle in front of the statue. Bill and Bev exchange a look, and Bev shrugs, like _Sure, I guess._ Richie shoves the rest of his cone in his mouth so he won't say anything stupid as he sits on his bike.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Eddie says. “It comes out from wherever to eat kids for like a year, and then what? It just goes in hibernation?” 

“Maybe it's like… what do you call it. Cicadas,” Stan offers. “You know, the bugs that come out once every seventeen years.” 

“My grandfather thinks his town is cursed,” says Mike. “He says that all the bad things that happen in this town are because of one thing, an evil thing that feeds off the people of Derry.”

“But it can't be one thing,” says Stan. “We all saw something different.”

“Maybe,” Mike says. “Or maybe it knows what scares us most and that's what we see.”

Richie swallows so hard his throat hurts, his mouth still sour from the sickly sweetness of the vanilla. It makes too much sense, and he doesn’t want to hear it. His stomach is rolling like he’s gonna be sick. 

“I-I saw a leper,” Eddie says. “H-he was like a walking infection.” 

“But you didn't,” Stan says suddenly, “b-because it isn't real. None of this is. Not Eddie’s leper, or Bill seeing Georgie, or the woman I keep seeing.” 

Richie’s unconsciously nodding at that, incredibly grateful at Stan for pointing out the obvious, too thrown to even make a joke about whatever the fuck that woman is. Of course it isn’t real, it can’t be real, and if Stan was having the dreams, he’d probably say the same thing. He considers, briefly, floating his something-in-the-water idea.

“Woman? What kind of woman?” Bev asks.

Stan winces. “I don’t know. Her face is all… messed up. None of this makes any sense. They’re like bad dreams.” 

“I don't think so,” Mike says. “I know the difference between a bad dream and real life, okay?” 

“What’d you see? You saw something, too?” Eddie asks.

“Yes. Do you guys know that burnt down house on Harris Avenue?” Richie nods a little with the rest. Mike speaks slowly, like this is a very hard story to tell. “I was inside when it burned down,” he says. “Before I was rescued, my mom and dad were trapped in the next room over from me. They were pushing and pounding on the door, trying to get to me. But it was too hot. When the firemen finally found them, the skin on their hands had… melted down to the bone.” He takes a deep breath, adds, “We’re all afraid of something.”

Richie grimaces, looking behind him over at the stage, and says without thinking, “You got that right.” They’ve got a clown as entertainment, one that looks like it comes straight from a low-budget horror film. Why the fuck would anyone want a clown for entertainment in this stupid town? Why the fuck would any same person want a clown at all?

“Why, Rich?” Eddie asks. “What are you afraid of?”

Richie swallows hard again, looking back down at his shoes. A month ago, his answer would’ve been pretty different, and he can’t say it’s changed too much. Those fears have been haunting his mind since at least fifth grade, they don’t go away instantaneously. But he’s not thinking about that fear, not right now; he’s thinking about the dreams. This would be a good place to tell his friends the truth, and intellectually, he knows that he should. He obviously, obviously should.

But he can’t, he can’t, so he just shoves his glasses up his nose and says, “Clowns,” and it’s not entirely a lie. You hear enough weird clown laughter in your dreams about your friends dying, you start to get creeped out by them.

When he looks up, Eddie is looking at him with the same look he gave him in the hammock after a nightmare, like he’s thinking about what Richie said about clown dreams a few weeks ago, and for a wild moment, Richie thinks maybe he should just tell him. Just Eddie, and maybe Stan. Maybe something will change.

“G-guys, I have an idea,” Bill says, sitting up straighter. “C-c-can you guys come over to my house tomorrow? I have something I want to s-show you.” 

“What is it?” Bev asks, turning towards Bill, tugging on her key again. 

“M-my dad has some maps of Derry. I-I think I know how the t-t-thing might move around town,” says Bill. “I’ll p-put it all together tonight so you can see it.”

“I’m in,” Bev says immediately. “I’ll come over as soon as my dad leaves for work.” 

Ben says immediately, “I’m in, too,” his face turning a familiar shade of red.

“I’ll come, too,” Mike says. “I’ve been curious about what’s been happening in this town for a while now. I’d like to get some answers.” 

Richie half-hopes that Eddie and Stan will say no—mostly because he wants an excuse to get out of this, and he has none if they all say yes, but also a little bit because he’s still a little worried that this shit is connected to the dreams. Because of course it would be. But Eddie and Stan say yes, too, even if it’s a little reluctant-seeming on Stan’s part. So of course Richie has to say yes, then. He offers an unenthusiastic, “Yeah, sure, whatever. This nerd shit had better be interesting, Big Bill.” 

“I-i-it’s not nerd shit,” Bill says. “It’s…” 

“Yeah, yeah, we know, the town is cursed or whatever. We’re not doing this til tomorrow, right? We should go to the quarry or something, it’s hot as shit today and tomorrow’s the Fourth of July. America, right? Let’s go!” He jabs Stan in the side, and Stan swats his hand away. 

“I’m with Richie, let’s go to the quarry,” Ben says, and Mike and Stan offer their support, and since the clown subject has sort of been worn out from the day, Bill and Bev agree, too. They pick up their bikes and set off a few minutes later, eager to get out of the sun for a little while.

Eddie rides up beside Richie on their way to the quarry, pedaling slow to keep pace with Richie as Richie wipes sweat out of his eyes. “Hey, Richie, are you okay?” he asks softly, maybe so the others don’t hear.

“Yeah, Eds, why wouldn’t I be?” Richie shakes sweat-damp hair out of his face like a dog. “I am a-okay. Absolutely.” 

“You don’t _seem_ okay,” Eddie says pointedly. 

“Well, I am,” Richie snaps, just as pointedly. “Definitely. I’m looking forward to swimming, looking forward to cooling the fuck off. It’s summer! It’s fun. Right?”

“Right, sure, okay,” Eddie says. “You look totally cool, sure. Whatever.” He sounds annoyed. Richie guesses he’s probably wondering about the stupid fucking clown dreams he wished he’d never told him about, but he can’t bring himself to care too much. He sticks his tongue out at Eddie, like they’re just bickering normally, and pedals harder to get in front of him, because he really doesn’t want to talk about it. Eddie seems to have let it go by the time they get to the quarry. 

They spend the rest of the day there, splashing around in the cool water and not talking about clowns, and Richie has a great fucking time. And if he sees some familiar-looking people clustered around hugging in the water, one of them sobbing like his heart is broken, and if they all disappear when Richie ducks his head under the water abruptly, well, then it doesn’t really matter. He just keeps pretending it isn’t real. He knows he’ll have to think about this all tomorrow, but he’s not ready for that yet. He just wants to enjoy the day.

\---

The worst day of Richie’s life begins like this: he wakes up having not dreamt, but also feeling like he got absolutely no sleep at all. His mom makes pancakes and his sister groans about him chewing with his mouth open and he passes the morning watching game show reruns to try and put off going to Bill’s. He’s the last one there, but he does still have to go. He'll get shit for days if he doesn't show. He can’t avoid it forever, as much as he might want to. He rides over as slowly as he can, but he’s still not the last one there. Stan shows up last, looking mildly annoyed in a way that Richie can’t exactly place. 

Bill’s got his garage decked out like a classroom with a lazy substitute teacher: all dark with a giant projector aimed at the wall. His dad used to put on slideshows of family pictures, Richie saw about a million of them when he used to sleep over. They don’t put on slideshows anymore; now the projector is just used by Bill to search for his dead brother.

Bill brought out this map of the Derry sewer system when he told them about how Georgie must’ve ended up in the Barrens, and he’s got that pinned to the wall now and the projector pointed to it. “I’ve g-got this old m-map of Derry, too,” he says, turning the projector on. “L-l-look at this, okay? T-they match."

He puts another slide in as they all get settled, old images of the town settling over the red lines of the sewer and Bill’s handwritten markers. The sewer manages to line right up with all of the places Bill has marked. For some reason, the sight makes Richie sick to his stomach, makes him want to throw up. 

“Look,” Bill says, pointing. “That's where G-G-Georgie disappeared. There's the Ironworks, and the Black Spot. Everywhere It happens, it's—it's all connected by the sewers. And they all meet up at the—”

“The well house,” Ben finishes for him. 

“It's in the house on Neibolt Street,” Stan says, and his voice is tight with terror, and Richie’s heart is pounding all of a sudden because he’s thinking of Adult Bev, in his dream. _Have we gone to Neibolt yet?_

“Y-you mean that creepy-ass house where all the junkies and hobos like to sleep?” Richie says to that, maybe to break the tension, maybe out of sheer nervousness. Maybe because he’s hoping for a no, because they _can’t_ go there, because Adult Bev sounded scared when she mentioned it. Like something bad happens there. But she didn’t tell him what. He hears the sudden whooshy sound of Eddie’s inhaler and looks over in time to see Eddie pull it away from his mouth. He’s scared, and Stan is, too. Richie's heart thuds rapidly against his ribs and he can't take his eyes off Eddie as Eddie struggles to breathe.

“I hate that place,” Bev says, and Richie thinks of Adult Bev again. She looked scared, she twisted that ring around like Bev was twisting her key yesterday, she sounded kinda like Bev does now, but worse. “It always feels like it's watching me," present-day Bev adds.

“That's where I saw it,” Eddie gasps, and he really does sound terrified, and Richie wants to stop this, he wants to stop it right now. “That’s where I saw the clown.”

“T-t-t-that's where It lives,” Bill says. Eddie brings his inhaler to his mouth again. 

“I can't imagine anything ever wanting to live there,” Stan says, in that same scared voice.

“Can we stop talking about this?” Eddie blurts, getting to his feet abruptly, and Richie is in such agreement that he stumbles to his feet right alongside him. Eddie is still talking rapidly as he stands in front of the map, nearly hyperventilating, saying, “I-I-I can barely breathe… it’s summer, we’re kids, and I can barely breathe… I’m up here having a fucking asmtha attack! I’m not doing this.” He turns around and rips the map off the wall, and Richie wants to cheer and thank him all at once. He’s nodding furiously without even really realizing it. 

"What the hell?" Bill snaps, indignant. "Put the map back." Eddie shakes his head. 

"He's right," Richie blurts, and he's turning towards Bill, furious all of a sudden. Thinking _the clown the cave Neibolt Stan bleeding in the bath Eddie bleeding underground,_ thinking, _no._ "He's right, we have to stop, we can't fucking do this…"

"Richie, shut up!" Bill says abruptly, and before Richie can fire back, he realizes why Bill said that. Beside them, the projector is whirring, flipping through pictures. And when he looks down at the machine, he sees nobody's hands on it. Nobody touching it. It's doing it all on its own. 

Pictures are appearing on the wall, flipping through in an orderly succession. Bill's dad and Georgie with fishing poles. Bill and his family on a log ride. "W-what's going on?" Bill asks, sounding afraid for the first time all day.

“I got it, hold on,” Mike says, and he bends over the projector, messes with it. He must be unable to do anything, because the next thing he says is a wavering, “Guys…” 

Eddie’s fully away from the wall, huddled over with the rest of them; they’re watching the pictures of Bill’s family flip through. “Guys, we need to _go_ ,” Richie tries, but it’s too quiet, they aren’t listening, he doesn’t know if he could move even if he tried. He’s shaking all over, he wants to be somewhere else, he wants to wake _up._

The projector lands on a photo of Bill’s family holding hands outside the church, Bill’s mom with her hair all in her face. “Georgie,” Bill says softly, as the projector focuses in on that picture instead of moving on, zooming in closer and closer on Georgie’s face, clicking clicking clicking. Richie’s seen Georgie in his dreams a million times, he’s almost always crying, frightened out of his mind, the way he must've been when he died. He tries to tell his friends to _go_ again, tries to scream _run_ , but he can’t get the words out. 

“Bill…” Stan tries, but he doesn’t answer; their eyes are all glued to the screen as the projector flips faster. It’s still the same picture, but the view is moving now, moving to focus on Bill’s mom. Except Richie’s starting to think that it isn’t Bill’s mom. The projector moves faster and the hair moves with it, covering her face more, and then it’s moving away, uncovering the face underneath. Not Mrs. Denbrough’s face; it’s the clown’s. Richie tries to say _no,_ but all he can get out is a pathetic little _nnnn_ . _I want to wake up now,_ he tries. _Oh god oh god oh god let me wake up._

His friends are starting to shout as the picture starts to _move_ —not like a slideshow, but like a movie, or like the wind is really there, blowing hair away, but it can’t, it’s not real—”It’s not real,” Richie says. He can see the clown now, really see it, and he reaches for Eddie without thinking, pulling him closer, and he’s shouting, “It’s not real! It's not fucking real!” but Eddie’s shaking his head wildly, and it _is_ real, because he isn’t fucking asleep, and he needs to fucking wake up, but he can’t, because it’s real, it’s not a dream, it’s real.

The fucking clown is still moving, and Bev is shouting for Bill to turn it off. Richie adds his voice to the clamor of agreeing voices, and someone scrambles towards the projector to maybe do just that, but they just knock the projector over instead. It falls and lands on its side, projecting a warped image of the clown on the wall. It’s blinking on off, on off, and Richie only realizes then that Stan is too close to the projector. Off and then on, and then the clown is gone, and his breath catches in his throat, his fingernails digging into Eddie’s arm. 

He’s letting of Eddie to grab Stan, he’s opening his mouth to scream at Stan to get the fuck away from there, but then the projector goes off on again, but the clown’s not a picture, it’s _there_ , it’s in the room and it's huge and its teeth are so sharp, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

He screams with the others. The clown is laughing and it sounds the same as it always has, and Richie bellows, “Stanley!” as Stan is running away. He grabs Stan and yanks him out of the way, but the clown is going for Bev, crawling like a motherfucking freight train, and Richie's insisting, _Bev can’t die Bev won’t die I’ve seen her grow up she doesn’t die,_ but he suddenly doesn’t really know if that’s true. In the flashing light of the projector, he can see Bev where the clown’s got her cornered, can see it reaching for her, can see her covering her face in fear and he’s ready to scream when somebody yanks the garage door up. Sunlight streams into the room, and just like that, the clown is gone.

Richie’s shaking, shaking so hard he doesn’t actually know how he’s still standing upright _or_ how he hasn’t lost his breakfast yet. Bev’s crossing the room to hug Bill, but Richie can’t look at them; he’s looking at the projector, not sure he can really believe the clown is gone. He’s looking at the projector because he can’t look away, because he _knows_ , he knows that it’s all real, the clown is here and it can hurt them and that means Eddie and Stan can die and his friends might die, too, and he might not be able to stop it all from happening, stop them from ending up in that cave someday. And he wants nothing less in the world than for that to happen, and before now, he could pretend it all wasn’t real, but it _is_ , it’s all real. He feels like he's gonna cry.

“I-it saw us,” Eddie says suddenly, and it’s enough to snap Richie out of it. He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks back over at them. “It saw us and it knows where we are!” Eddie says, his voice rising in fear. 

“It always did,” Bill says simply, and Richie thinks that, for the first time that day, he wholeheartedly agrees with Bill. It was always able to hurt them; it’s only just now starting.

But Bill’s not done. He pushes past them, saying, “S-s-so let's go,” and Richie’s thinking he’s fucking lost it. What the fuck? Do they not understand now, do they not know what’s going to happen if they keep doing this? 

“Go? Go where?” Ben asks with the appropriate amount of _what the fuck_ in his voice. Richie thinks he’s never loved that little bastard more than in this moment.

“Neibolt,” Bill says firmly. “That's where G-G-G-Georgie is.”

“After that?” Stan asks. 

_Thank you!_ Richie wants to say, _thank you for being fucking sane, Stanley_ , but he’s still shaking, his hands are still shaking, and all he can come up with is a weak, shaky, “Yeah, it's summer. W-we should be outside…” He doesn’t know how to tell them that he’s seen how this all ends, even if it doesn’t end until they’re all adults, he doesn’t know how to tell them that Eddie and Stan are gonna _die_.

“If you say it's summer one more f-f-fucking time…” Bill begins, furious, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he turns on his heel and goes for his bike, getting on it without another word.

“Bill!” Bev tries. “Wait!” But he doesn’t turn around. He takes off on his bike, pedaling maybe harder than Richie’s ever seen, the same determination he always has when it comes to Georgie in his every motion. He’s gone before any of the rest of them can try to stop him. 

Richie grips the inside of his pockets, digs his fingernails into his palms until he has the courage to speak. Because yeah, he’s kind of mad at Bill even though he maybe shouldn’t be. But Bill is still one of his best friends, and he’s not about to let _him_ be the one to get skewered and left alone in some cave just because he’s a stubborn dickhead. Bill doesn’t really know about the dreams, after all. 

“W-we have to go stop him,” he says. “He can’t go in there… he’s gonna die.” 

“Come on,” Bev says, like she’d already made the decision, and goes for her bike, picking it up off the ground. The rest follow, of course; it’s _Bill_. They all look a little like they’ve been hit by a truck, and Eddie’s got a death grip on his inhaler, but they all still go. Richie considers telling them to stay back for like five seconds, but he doesn’t, because there’s no way they’d agree, and that would be way too weird. He’d basically have to tell them that he’s seen them all die or almost die in his dreams. And besides, he can’t talk Bill into not going into Neibolt on his own. No fucking way, not Trashmouth Tozier. They’ll go get Bill together, all of them, and they’ll talk him out of it somehow and that’ll be the end of it. 

They all pedal like madmen to catch up to Bill, and manage to get to Neibolt just as he’s heading up the stairs into the house. Bev’s the first to speak, shouting, “Bill!” and heading up the path after him. “Bill, you can’t go in there. This is crazy,” she says, and Richie only briefly considers adding a _Fuck yeah_ to that. 

“Look, you don’t have to come in with me,” Bill says, his voice maybe the steadiest that Richie’s ever heard it. “But what happens when another Georgie goes missing? Or another Betty, or another Ed Corcoran, or… one of us? Are you just going to pretend it didn’t happen like everyone else in this town? Because I can’t.” He takes a shaky breath. “I go home and all I see is that Georgie isn’t there… his clothes, his toys, his stupid stuffed animals, but… he isn’t. So walking into this house… for me, it’s easier than walking into my own.”

Richie has known Bill for a long time, and if he knows anything about Bill, he knows that he is the stubbornest son-of-a-bitch in the world. He always has been; that’s probably why they pushed him into the unofficial leader role he’s taken. When he decides he wants to do something, it is literally impossible to talk him out of it, and when it comes to Georgie, he’s even worse. Richie knows now, after that little speech, that they have about a snowball’s chance in hell of getting Bill off that porch; they’d have better luck tackling him and handcuffing him to the fence. “Wow,” he says quietly, as Bill turns towards the house, completely aware he is admitting defeat. Thank god it’s only to himself.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“He didn’t stutter once,” says Richie. 

He starts to follow Bill onto the porch, because look: there is no fucking way he wants to go in there. He doesn’t want to die, and he doesn’t want his friends to die, and he doesn’t want to set them on a path that leads to them dying thirty years from now. But. He has a sneaking suspicion that if he doesn’t go in right now to try and save Eddie and Stan, then Bill will die instead. And he can’t let that happen. He won't fucking let that happen.

Look, he tries to tell himself, Adult Bev didn’t say anyone _died_ , or even got hurt, in Neibolt. He’s seen them all as adults, actually, so. In less his dreams and LSD-trip visions and strange conversations with the old version of Beverly Marsh are inaccurate—and he’s seen too much stuff happen for real to believe they’re inaccurate—then they don’t die today, in 1989. They make it to adulthood at least. So just for today, they should be safe. Adult Bev was probably just remembering getting the shit scared out of her, anyway.

“Wait!” Stan yelps, as soon as Richie’s foot hits the bottom step. They all turn and look back at him, where he and Mike are hanging back. “Um, shouldn’t we have… some people keep watch?” he asks. “You know, just—just in case something bad happens?”

“W-who wants to stay out here?” Bill asks, his hand on the doorknob. 

All of their hands shoot up, except for Bev’s. Richie’s hand does, too, automatically, until he remembers that he fucking has to go in because he’s the only one who kind of knows what to look for. ( _Watch out for giant, swinging, claw-stabby thingies, got it, genius._ ) He yanks his hand back down and mutters, “Fuck,” under his breath. Everyone else’s hand goes down gradually, too.

They end up drawing straws—or more accurately, pieces of grass that Bev rips up at random and sticks into Bill’s fist. She pulls the longest one and immediately looks disappointed. Mike, Ben, and Stan all pull longer ones, too, and look incredibly relieved. Especially Stan. Based off of everything that’s happened, Richie’s guessing he would shit himself if he had to go into that house. It makes him feel even worse—nausea setting in again—that Stan is one of the ones who dies. He's so freaked out by the whole thing.

( _It’s okay,_ he wants to tell them. _It’s okay, we don’t die yet, we live until we’re adults and_ then _we start dying._ But that’s a dumb-shit thing to say; it’s not like that really will provide any comfort. It’s not like it’s doing much for him.) 

He and Eddie pull the short ones. Of course. He tries to be grateful, because that's what he wanted, but his stomach starts rolling wildly at the sight of the tiny grass. Eddie’s face goes a little pale when he sees his, like a prisoner being led to execution, but he doesn’t say a word. Richie almost suggests that Bev go in instead of Eddie, since Bev actually _wants_ to, but he doesn’t, because that’d probably be weird, too. He just silently vows to stick to Eddie like glue in there—Bill, too. _I won’t let you get skewered, Eds,_ he thinks. _No fucking way._

There’s a moment right in front of the door where he hesitates—when Bill’s got his hand on the door, and Eddie’s breathing wheezily next to Richie like a pre-asthma attack, and he can feel the eyes of his other friends, scattered on the trashy front lawn, on him, and he says, “You sure you want to do this, Bill?” Bill turns to him, and Richie swallows hard, shoving his glasses up on his face. “I mean, we could die,” he adds, and hears Eddie’s breath go all high next to him, and instantly regrets it. But they could. They could die in there.

Bill shakes his head hard, all the confidence in the world, and reaches out to clap Eddie reassuringly on the shoulder. “W-we’re not going to die, Richie,” he says, and turns around to pull the door open. 

Richie wants to laugh, because he knows better. He’s known better for a while now. But he doesn’t laugh, and he doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t do anything besides reach out to poke Eddie gently in the side. Besides take a deep, shaking breath, think, _Screw your cryptic stories, Adult Bev,_ and step into the house after them. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is slightly more intense, mostly in the vein of the first neibolt sequence, but also with some taunting of richie by the clown. warning for some internalized/clown-directed homophobia.

The inside of the crack house on Neibolt Street looks exactly like how Richie has always pictured haunted houses. Not those stupid little-kid ones at fairs where everything looks like it was made out of cardboard, but the real thing. He would absolutely not be surprised to see, like, a phantom floating down the stairs or hiding around the corner or some shit like that. But he knows that whatever they find in this stupid house will probably be a lot worse than some stupid ghost. 

“Can’t believe I pulled the short straw,” he cracks as they enter the house, even though he needed to pull the short one, and probably would’ve had to make some lame excuses for why he had to go in if he hadn’t. He hates his life. He keeps going, because jokes feel incredibly appropriate right now: “You guys are lucky you’re not measuring dicks.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie says, still sounding pretty afraid. Richie gets that. “I-I can smell it,” he adds in a disgusted voice. 

“Don’t breathe through your mouth,” Richie advises, very unseriously. He’s too busy watching the corners, the edges of the room, trying to look for a giant clown or a Stan-Spider or anything that could hurt them. 

“How come?” 

“Cause then you’re eating it,” Richie says absently, and hears Eddie’s responding gag. He’s not really listening, though; his eyes are drawn to this giant spider-web thing in the corner. That definitely fucking looks like something the clown would pop out of randomly, surprise them all and skewer them early, fuck  _ that _ . 

He must be an idiot because he draws closer; better to draw the fucker out, right? Don’t let it take them by surprise? He gets closer, tensing up for a fight, but he doesn’t find a clown in the tangle of weird-ass spider webs. He finds a Missing poster, with a real familiar fucking picture on it.  _ Fuck _ . 

He draws it out with trembling hands, this crumpled poster with his name on it.  _ His  _ name:  _ Richie Tozier, 13 years old, last seen July 4. _ He’s remembering being in Ben’s room and seeing all the Missing posters and thinking about his friends; he’s remembering thinking about how he used to see himself, but he didn’t anymore, but here it is, here’s a poster with his fucking name on it, and his hands are shaking so bad he’s crumpling the poster again. He looks to Bill and Eddie to make sure they’re still there, a little helplessly, and they’re coming over to him. “What?” Bill asks.

“It-it says I’m missing,” he says. 

Bill comes over to look at it, examine it for himself, and he  _ sees  _ it, which means it’s real, it's not a dream, and Richie suddenly can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to  _ die _ , he doesn’t want any of them to die and he doesn’t want to die, and Bill’s saying in this stupid reassuring voice, “Y-you’re not missing, Richie.”

“Police department, city of Derry!” he reads, his voice rising in hysteria—he’s not supposed to die, he’s not supposed to die yet, he’s seen himself as a grown-up, and he doesn’t want to die. “That’s my shirt, that’s my hair, that’s my shirt, that’s my face, that’s my age, that’s the date…” Bill’s pulling the poster away, trying to tell him it’s not real, but Richie's nearly screaming, “No, it says it, it says it! What the fuck, am I missing? Are we missing, are we going to go missing?" His eyes dart over to Eddie and back to Bill, just to make sure they're still there. 

“No, calm down, look at me, Richie, look at me!” Bill says, throwing the poster on the floor and grabbing his wrist gently. “T-that isn’t real. It’s playing tricks on you.” But he’s looking at the poster again, on the floor, and it’s not his face anymore. It’s Eddie’s now, then it’s Stan’s, then Bill’s, then Bev’s Ben’s Mike’s, and he lets out this shriek and falls to the floor to seize the poster. Rips it into tiny pieces so he doesn’t have to see it anymore because they're not missing, they're  _ not.  _

When he looks up, he sees the real Eddie, staring at him in horror with his hands over his mouth, and he’s suddenly worried that Eddie saw his own face, and he doesn’t know what to say, he doesn't know what he's supposed to say.

“Richie! Richie!” Bill falls onto the ground beside him and grabs his hands where they’re ripping the paper. 

“The faces changed, they fucking changed, didn’t you see it?” Richie shouts, nearly wailing. “Didn’t you fucking see it? Don’t tell me it’s not real, it’s all real, I’ve seen it and it’s  _ real _ !” 

“It’s  _ not _ real, R-Richie!” Bill’s nearly shouting back, and then someone’s voice is rising up under his, calling  _ Hello? _ from upstairs. It sounds just like Betty Ripsom. 

Bill’s immediately on his feet, going towards the sound as they hear the voice call out again. Eddie turns towards Richie, who shakes his head hard and gets to his feet, shaking a little. They need to get the fuck out of here, he thinks, but he’s still following Bill to the stairs, following Betty’s voice as she calls out, “Help me, please!” There’s something scraping over the ground, like something being pulled across the floor, and Betty sounds scared, and Richie wonders for one wild moment if Betty is still alive and they can get her out of here. 

Bill’s heading up the stairs, so he follows, because he told himself he wouldn’t leave Bill or Eddie alone and he meant it.  _ You’re not missing, _ he tries to tell himself as they walk, and neither are your friends.  _ You’re all right here. You all grow up, you’ve seen it, you’re making it out of here today.  _ His words don't sound nearly as reassuring though, matched with the sounds from upstairs, weird gaspy sounds like Betty is choking. The upstairs is just as bad as the downstairs, dark and dirty and run-down, and Bill turns the corner towards a long hallway with an open door at the end, daylight in that room. There’s a shape lying in the doorway, and Richie squints a little before realizing who it is. Betty, lying on the floor and coughing and choking like she can’t breathe. Eddie gives a raspy gasp as she looks up, right at them.

“Betty?” Bill asks. “Ripsom?” Richie adds lamely. 

Betty looks right at them, pleading in her eyes, and then she screams as she’s yanked abruptly out of sight by something they can’t see. Her scream fades, just like that, and Richie can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, either. He’s seen too many people die, even if it’s just in dreams, and screw this fucking thing, screw believing that they’ll be okay just cause he’s seen them as adults, they need to fucking  _ go _ . 

He says it out loud in a tiny voice, he says, “W-we need to go, Bill,” but Bill isn’t listening. He’s walking towards the room with that same Bill Denbrough Determination he’s shown all his life, like when he catches spiders in the cabin at summer camp without even flinching, like when he stands up to Bowers despite them begging him not to, like the way he tells people Georgie is still alive despite everyone thinking the opposite and doesn't back down. That’s how he’s walking towards that room, and fucking fuck, Richie loves Bill but he’s gonna get them all killed. “B-Bill,” he says, “c’mon,” and takes a tentative step after him, then another, reaching out to grab his shirt and pull him back. 

Bill is shaking his head, saying, “Richie, no, we have to help her,” and Richie doesn’t believe that Betty’s alive anymore, and he actually does catch Bill by the shirt and starts to pull, but he freezes when he hears the whoosh of Eddie’s inhaler from down the hall. And it’s then that he realizes that Eddie isn’t with them. 

He lets go of Bill’s shirt and whirls around, in time to see Eddie standing alone at the end of the hall, facing away from them. “Eddie,” he calls out, and Eddie looks back over his shoulder. But Richie whirls back around in a panic when he hears the creak of Bill opening the door, says, “Bill, fucking come  _ on _ ,” and he can’t fucking watch them both. "Eddie…" he tries, but he doesn't think Eddie is coming over here. 

Bill’s not turning around, he’s halfway in the room, and he’s saying, “Where i-is she?” 

“Guys,” Eddie is calling from down the hall, and Richie turns back around to see Eddie turning towards them, moving frantically down the hall, but the door is creaking again, and he turns back around jerkily in time to see it slam, loudly, on Bill’s loud protest. 

“Fuck!” Richie yells, and yanks hard at the doorknob. “Bill! Bill, open the goddamn door!” Bill’s shouting on the other end, pounding on the door, and Eddie’s shouting somewhere behind him, and Richie kicks it hard with all the frustration pending up in him, fuck, he should’ve fucking handcuffed them together, he can't watch them both, this was dumb as  _ fuck _ . “Bill!” he shouts again, and Bill shouts their names on the other side, but he pauses suddenly when he realizes that he can’t hear Eddie shouting anymore. Can’t hear Eddie at all, in fact, and just as he’s ready to call Eddie’s name, tell him to get the fuck over here and help him break the door down, he hears a loud, ominous  _ thump  _ that makes his stomach twist. “Eds?” he calls, and turns to gingerly to find the hallway empty and dark. No Eddie. No sign that Eddie was ever there in the first place. 

“Eds!” Richie yelps, wanting to kick himself in the fucking head. He hears Bill pounding on the door again, asking what’s wrong, and he shouts, “Eddie’s gone! Stay right there, Bill, I’ll be right back, I gotta find Eddie,” and takes off running down the hall. 

“Eddie!” he shouts, pushing his way past open doors, closed doors, past the staircase and down another hall, because he didn’t hear Eddie’s footsteps on the stairs, but then again, he didn’t hear Eddie’s footsteps anywhere, where the fuck did he  _ go _ ? “Eddie, where the fuck are you?” he shouts, rounding a corner and shoving open a half-closed door. “We’re not playing hide and seek, dipshit!” And that’s when, behind him, he hears a door click like someone’s shoved it close. 

Richie turns around as quickly as he can and asks, “Eddie?” in a wavering voice towards the closed door. There’s no answer. He swallows and steps towards the door, hand outstretched to touch it. “Eddie, come on, we have to get Bill and get out of here," he says, nearly pleading. 

As if in answer, the door begins to open, creaking slowly and squeaking like every other door in this stupid house. Eddie’s not behind it, though, he’s not opening it;  _ no one _ is opening it. And that should be enough to send Richie running off, but he freezes when he sees someone in there, lying on the floor. There's a fucking  _ body _ on the floor, and Richie runs towards it without thinking, even though it's too big to be Bill or Eddie. He runs towards it til he can't anymore, because he freezes as soon as he sees who it is, fuck,  _ fuck. _

It's fucking Adult Stan, lying sprawled on the floor in some dumb old-person sweater and glasses all lopsided, lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes are open but it's clear he can't see and Richie can't stop shaking. His teeth are chattering, like he's cold, and he can barely speak, so he forces out the word. "S-S-Stanley?"

Adult Stan doesn't answer. He's lying on the floor, not moving, and oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Richie doesn't think he's even  _ breathing _ . He can barely breathe and he has to tell himself that it's not real, it's not real, Stan's outside,  _ Stan’s outside _ , and he's still thirteen, just thirteen, and he's  _ not dead _ and it's not real, it's not real… 

Behind Richie, the door to the room begins to creak, slowly. Richie's been in this stupid house long enough to know exactly what that means, so he whirls the fuck around. But he's too late to catch the door before it slams closed hard. 

" _ Fuck _ !" Richie gasps and lunges for the door, grabbing the doorknob in both hands and yanking. It rattles uselessly under his hands. "Motherfucker, mother _ fucker _ ," he gasps, and he thinks he might be crying, just a little. He lifts one hand to scrub at his face and pounds on the door with the other, shouting, "Bill! Eddie!" as loud as he can over and over again and praying like shit that one of them can hear him, that one of them is okay and not locked behind a door. “Bill, Eddie, I’m in here, help!”

"They're not coming, Richie."

Richie freezes as his palm hits the door again, Bill's name ripped halfway out of his throat. He  _ knows  _ that voice, somehow, but he doesn't want to think about where. He doesn't want to turn around but he has to turn around, and soon as he has, he wishes like hell he hadn't. Because Adult Eddie is behind him, in the shadowy corner of the room, his shirt still soaked with blood and one hand pressed over the bloody hole. It's impossible, and it isn't  _ real _ , but he's standing there, looking at Richie. 

Richie, unthinking, chokes out a desperate, "Eds?"

"They aren't coming," Eddie says, and he shoots Richie a twisted smile with bloodstained teeth. "Why would they come for  _ you _ , Richie? They know about you, they know it all. They know how you let us die."

Richie can't breathe, can't move, can't speak, his throat closing with horror. He's shaking all over, his eyes darting back and forth from Adult Eddie to Adult Stan, but he can't look away, can't say anything. He tries it again, tries to say something like a plea or an apology, tries, " _ Eds _ …"

"It's  _ your fault _ , Richie, it's your fault we die," Adult Eddie says, and he's smiling like the fucking clown in every single one of Richie's dreams. "You don't do anything to save us. You won't tell us it's even going to happen! You left me alone in the house, and you lied about your dreams, and you don't stop Stan, and you don't push me out of the way. And then you  _ leave  _ me, all alone in the sewers to  _ rot _ ."

"I-I-I… I-I didn't," Richie tries and can't finish, because he doesn't know how to say that he  _ hasn't  _ left Eddie yet and he won't, he won't fucking let him or Stan die, but he did lie about his dreams, and he did leave Eddie alone, and he's fucking horrible because he can't even stop this, can't even save his best friends. 

"But you  _ will _ ," Eddie says, and he's still smiling, blood spilling over his chin as he talks, as he moves towards Richie. "You will because you're  _ useless,  _ Richie. You don't do anything to try and help us, and  _ I  _ die because I tried to save  _ you.  _ And you still can't do anything about it! You lie to your friends every day because you're a little fucking coward, and you can't tell them that you see them dying because you don't want them to know that you  _ cry  _ like a little baby."

Richie shakes his head wildly, but Adult Eddie's not done, drawing closer and closer with every hurtful word. "And you're no better as an adult, Richie. You're still useless and annoying and a coward, and you still want to touch the other boys because you haven't learned  _ anything _ ." Eddie laughs wildly, laughs like it's the funniest thing in the whole fucking world. "You thought we leave Derry  _ together _ ? I haven't spoken to you in over twenty years, Richie, why would I leave with you? Why would I leave with anyone who would let me  _ die _ ?"

Richie shakes his head again and jerks his head away, only to look back to Stan and see  _ Stan,  _ his Stan, thirteen-year-old Stan sprawled in the blood, wearing the same exact clothes he has on today. " _ Stan _ ," he gasps out, horrified, and he jerks towards Stan to help him before he hears the voice again, saying, "Richie?" And it's  _ his _ Eddie now, when he looks back, covered in blood, his face full of confusion. "Richie, you let this happen," he says softly. 

" _ No _ ," Richie blurts, his face streaked with tears. "Eddie…"

"You let me die, you left me alone to  _ die _ ," Eddie says, his voice growing angrier, nearly snarling, saying, "Maybe… maybe you should die, too." And when he looks back up at Richie, his teeth are all razor sharp, about a million of them in his mouth. Richie gasps, stumbling back until his back hits the door. 

"You should float, too," Eddie says, and his voice is all wrong, deeper and twisted, and then he's leaping at Richie like a deranged squirrel, and Richie can finally, finally scream. 

He fumbles wildly til he finds the doorknob and yanks hard, eyes glued to the false Eddie with the glowing eyes. The doorknob turns this time, and he goes sprawling out in the hallway. He slams the door behind him as hard as he can and collapses to the floor in a heap, heaving sudden, wild sobs into his arms. 

He's shaking and crying like a fucking baby all over again, and he doesn't move until he hears Bill saying, "R-R-R-Richie," his voice enough of a shock to make him jump. He looks up, his glasses all blurry and smeared with tears, to see Bill not looking all that different, his face white and his eyes red like he’s been crying, too; he probably saw something, too. He puts a hand on Richie's shoulder and says, "W-w-what happened?"

Richie feels like he can barely talk, but he manages to force out, "It was Stan… a-and Eddie… they were… were…" He can't say it, he won't say it, he wants to be somewhere else and never think about this again. He shouldn’t have come, they shouldn’t have come, he should’ve just handcuffed Bill to the goddamn fence.

"It w-w-wasn't real," Bill says firmly, and he jerks forward to hug Richie, his arms around his shoulders. "It's f-f-f-fucking w-with us, but it w-w-wasn't real, okay? Just like the poster.  _ None _ of this is real."

Richie hugs Bill back, still quivering all over. He swallows back more sobs, sniffling wildly, and pulls back to wipe at his face and nose, to say in an uncertain voice, "Where's Eddie?" 

Somewhere deeper in the house, Eddie starts to scream for help. Richie's blood freezes in his veins as he thinks stupidly,  _ This can't happen now, it can't happen yet, it's not supposed to happen yet _ . He and Bill shove up without thinking, barreling downstairs and sprinting towards the sounds of Eddie's screams. 

They find him in a shitty little room, huddling against the wall as the fucking  _ clown _ leans over him, Its gloves covering Eddie's entire face, holy Jesus  _ fuck.  _ "Eddie!" Richie blurts, and then he's moving again, moving past Bill and running at Eddie, only thinking that he  _ has  _ to get the clown away, he can't let him die, he can't let him die  _ again _ . He runs at Eddie to save him, but he only makes it a few feet. 

He hears Bill shout, "Richie!" his voice pitching high, and then the clown is turning on him, looming over him, grabbing him before he can reach Eddie. Its hands close hard around Richie as it lifts him right off the ground by his shoulders, like he weighs  _ nothing _ . "Here we are again, Richie," it says, its voice jovial, and it laughs wildly. "You ready to float?" 

Richie can't breathe, fear filling his mouth and tightening in his chest. His hands smack uselessly out at the clown as he listens to Bill shouting, and Eddie screaming something that kinda sounds like his name. He wants to shout,  _ Hey, Eds, can I have a drag on your inhaler? I can’t fucking breathe here! _ He wants to scream, he wants to run, he wants to tell Bill and Eddie to run, he wants to be anywhere else, he should’ve known he was gonna die today, he’s gonna go missing, he's gonna go  _ missing _ . He kicks out at the clown, whose mouth is open and showing the same razor teeth as Fake Eddie had, but it's no use, he can't get away. 

"And here we still haven't told your friends your little secrets," the clown coos dementedly. It's holding Richie so hard it feels like his shoulders will snap right off. "Which one should we start with, Richie? Should we tell them about your dreams, the ones you've been lying about? Or the _other_ dirty little secret?" It smiles at Richie like a psycho, and Richie punches uselessly at the fucking clown, whimpering like a kid, and he thinks Eddie might still be shouting his name. 

"Should we tell them, Richie?" The clown's toothy mouth jaw is unhinging, moving forward to bite him, and his friends are shouting, and Richie is trying to scream. "Should we tell them every dirty little se—"

It stops immediately, mid sentence, and Its hands loosen. Richie falls to the ground in a heap, scrambling back frantically as he takes in what's happened: Bev has stabbed a fucking fence post directly through the clown's head.

The shouts have gotten louder, blending together; he thinks all his friends are here now, he can hear them screaming. Bill is running for Eddie, good, and Bev is kneeling at his side and pushing at his shoulder, saying, "C'mon, Richie, c’mon, c’mon." Richie manages to get to his feet and run right for Bill and Eddie, Bev behind him. 

He scrambles for them and lands unevenly at Eddie's side. He sees Eddie is clutching an arm to his chest, and when he moves his other arm, Richie sees that it's fucking snapped, nearly in half, and he looks to Eddie with wild eyes. Eddie looks like he's been crying, and his good arm shoots out and he grabs Richie by the shirt. Richie crouches and, without thinking, puts his hand on Eddie's face, just to make sure he's real, he's okay. Bev's hand is on his shoulder, and Bill is crouching on Eddie's other side, and Stan, Mike, and Ben are by the door, and all of them are screaming. Richie wants to tell them to run away, to goddamn  _ run away _ , but he doesn't think he can talk. 

The clown is weaving around, fence post still sticking the fuck out of him, and he's coming for them now, his hands growing into claws, and Richie shouts for Eddie to look at him:  _ Eddie, look at me, look at me!  _ He keeps both hands on his face, holding him gently even though he knows he probably shouldn't. Eddie's practically hyperventilating in front of him, his hand curled into a death grip around Richie's shirt, and Bill and Bev are both still shouting, the clown moving towards them. Then it turns abruptly, claws slicing through the air and catching Ben right in the stomach, and they're all screaming Ben's name as he topples back, blood beginning to gather under his ripped shirt.

When Richie looks back, the clown is backing away, leaving, thank fucking god, they need to get  _ out  _ of here as quick as fucking possible. Richie doesn't know why the fuck the clown would leave, but he doesn't care because they need to  _ go,  _ right now, before they all die.

But Bill, somehow, says, "Don't let him get away!" and takes off after him like some kind of action hero. Richie's stomach rolls; he is gonna throw up. He looks at the rest of his friends—Bev, horror on her face as she looks between Eddie and Ben; Mike, going to help Ben up; Stan, standing half-in and half-out of the doorway, looking like he wants to run away but also like there's no chance of it. Everyone shouting for Bill to come back. And Richie's thinking about the room upstairs all over again and is desperately wishing he wasn't. Stan in a pool of blood. Eddie with it coming out of his mouth. His shoulders ache from where the clown held him too hard. "Stanley," he says without thinking, and then turns abruptly back to Eddie, choking out, "Eds…"

Eddie's still clutching Richie's shirt in one white-knuckled hand. His face is white with pain and tear-streaked, his broken arm held close to his chest—and fuck, fuck, that is definitely the wrong angle. The others are swarming around them because Eddie is the worst hurt out of all of them. Richie swallows hard and says, “I-I’m gonna snap your arm into place!” He can do this, he’s seen it on TV. 

Eddie’s face goes even whiter, and he snaps, “Do NOT fucking touch me!” He yanks hard on the hem of Richie’s shirt and shouts, “Do not fucking touch me!” Richie grabs the arm anyway because he knows how important it is to set a broken bone ( _ Eddie  _ told him how important it is to set a broken bone) and snaps it straight without thinking about it too hard. It’s fucking disgusting. He lurches to the side amid Eddie yelping and everyone’s shouts, hands pressed flat to the floor, and dry heaves a couple times, but nothing comes up. His eyes are blurring with tears, his head spinning. 

Stan’s nudging at his shoulder frantically, next thing he knows, saying something about them getting the fuck out of there. Richie is definitely fucking on board for that, and he stumbles unevenly to his feet. Bill is helping Eddie up and Richie grabs his other arm without thinking, steadying him as they sprint the fuck out of Neibolt. _ Good fucking riddance,  _ Richie wants to say, but he’s too afraid to talk, thinks if he opens his mouth he might throw up or scream or worse. 

They all help Eddie into the basket on Mike’s bike before taking off, riding as hard as they can back towards Bill’s house. Richie white-knuckles the handles of his bike, trying to hang back to keep all of his friends in sight. He catches sight of Ben riding unsteadily with one hand pressed to the bloody scratches through his shirt, and he feels sick all over again: he  _ knows  _ this, he saw it in his dream, the same way he saw Eddie’s broken arm the very first time, and he should’ve been able to have fucking  _ stopped  _ it, but he didn’t, because he thought if they lived to be adults they’d be okay. 

But he was wrong, so fucking wrong. Ben and Eddie still got hurt, and if he can’t keep them from getting hurt like this, then how the fuck is he supposed to save Stan and Eddie from fucking _dying_? He should’ve known fucking better, he should’ve dragged Bill away from the house, he should’ve fucking held Eddie’s hand to make sure they didn’t get separated, he should’ve made Adult Bev tell him exactly what happened in Neibolt to the fucking letter. _Fuck you,_ _Adult Bev!_ he wants to scream, but he can’t do that, obviously, because he’d sound crazy, and also because Present-Day Bev saved his life. And he’s already crying again, his vision blurring behind the smeared lenses of his glasses. He would never ever say it out loud, not after Ben had almost gotten skewered and Eddie’s arm was broken, but his shoulders really do hurt like hell, and he almost got his face bitten off by an evil fucking clown, and his friends almost died, and they _are_ going to die someday, and it’s going to be his fault. He turns his face into the wind and hopes it might dry his tears a little.

The others mostly beat him to Bill’s house because he’s been hanging back. Bill, Bev, and Stan run right for the house after they’ve helped Eddie out and sat him on the grass, and Mike’s checking on Ben. Richie jumps off his bike and lets it clatter to the ground before collapsing to the grass in a heap. He’s still crying a little, so he shoves his glasses off and covers his face and tries to steady his breathing, tries so hard not to scream.  _ I told you, _ he wants to scream,  _ I told you, Bill, that we would fucking die in there.  _ He’s breathing hard, his hands balled into fists on the grass, and then he hears Eddie’s small voice saying, “Rich?”

He’d nearly forgotten about Eddie, and Richie feels a wave of guilt wash over him at the thought. He lifts his head to look at Eddie, who is still clutching his arm protectively to him, staring at Richie with wide, pained eyes. Richie wants to go over and try to comfort Eddie, give him a hug and tell him how happy it is that he’s okay, but all he can hear is Adult Eddie’s voice, taunting him, and so he doesn’t move. He leans his head on his knees and says, “Do y-you feel okay?”

“No, my fucking arm is broken,” says Eddie, his voice shaking.

Richie snorts out a weak laugh, tightening his arms around his knees. Eddie forces a shaky smile, and Richie wants to cry all over again. “Eds, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m  _ so _ sorry I left you alone in there.” 

Eddie’s face crumples a little at that, and Richie’s nose burns like he really is gonna cry again, and he lets himself fall back against the grass limply as the others file out. “Y-y-your mom is on the way, Eddie,” he hears Bill say, and he can practically hear Eddie’s wince. He’s guessing Mrs. K lost her fucking shit, maybe worse than ever. He can still remember how much she freaked when Eddie fell off his bike last summer, and those were just scrapes, not a fucking broken bone. He tries to focus on something else: on Bev and Mike checking on Ben, helping him up; on Stan, sitting down next to him silently. He’s not ready to deal with any of this.

They know when Mrs. K’s arrived because they can hear her screeching tires about a mile away. They all scramble to their feet as she pulls up, Bill and Stan helping Eddie stand. She parks super abruptly on the curb and storms out of the car, and Richie can tell instantly that he’s right, and this is not going to be pretty for Eddie. This is the maddest he’s ever seen her. She lurches forward and seizes Eddie by the good arm, yanking him away from them like they’re dangerous or something—and  _ fuck _ , fuck, maybe they are. 

“ _ You _ ,” Mrs. K snarls, pointing at them accusingly, “you did this. You know how delicate he is.” She shoves Eddie past them and towards the car with a hand on the back of his neck, and Richie isn’t sure if he wants to shout at her or himself.

“We were attacked, M-M-Mrs. K,” Bill tries.

Mrs. K is definitely not having it. “No,  _ don't _ ,” she snaps, pushing Eddie in the car and slamming his door. “Don't try to blame anyone else.” Eddie’s got his face turned away from them behind the window, but Richie can see it, can tell he’s crying.

Mrs. K drops her keys as she whirls around from the car, and Bev says, “Let me—” as she bends to pick them up, but Mrs. K just yells, “Get back!” in her face like she thinks Bev is horrible, the same way all the kids at school, the teachers and the parents, have always talked about her. Bev looks like she’s just been slapped. “Oh, I've heard of you Miss Marsh,” Mrs. K says in the smuggest fucking voice, “and I don't want a dirty girl like you touching my Eddie.”

Bill tries again, maybe to stand up for Bev or Eddie or all of them: “Ms. K, I…” 

“No! You are all monsters, all of you, and Eddie's done with you. You hear? Done!” She grips her purse close and storms around to the other side of the car, climbing in the driver’s seat and pulling away from the curb. Eddie’s still crying, Richie can see it before they pull away, and it makes him feel sick all over again. 

The six of them trail after the car as it pulls down the street, watching him go. He wonders absently if he’ll ever see Eddie again (probably not, if Mrs. K has anything to say about it), and then he’s wondering if he even really deserves to. He can't stand the idea of not seeing Eddie, and Mrs. K is pretty horrible, they all know it, but she’s also  _ right _ . It’s their fault. They took him into the house, they left him alone in there. Richie didn’t keep an eye on him like he swore he would, and it could’ve been fucking worse, it could’ve been like the cave in the dreams. They could’ve all fucking died.

Bill clearly isn’t thinking the same thing, because the next thing he says is the craziest fucking shit Richie has ever heard, crazier than if he tried to explain his dreams and hallucinations and conversations with Bev from the future right this second. “I saw the well,” he says, an edge of determination in his voice. “W-w-w-w-we know where it is, and next time, we'll be better prepared.”

“No!” Stan explodes suddenly, his voice breaking. “No next time, Bill. You're insane.”

“Why?” Bev asks, a little accusingly. “We all know nobody else is going to do anything.”

“Eddie was nearly killed!” Richie explodes in indignant disbelief; how do they not fucking  _ get it _ , that they’re going to die if they keep doing this? “I-I almost got my face bit off, and look at this motherfucker!” He motions to Ben pointedly, who has mostly stopped bleeding, but his shirt is still blotched with red stains. “He's leaking Hamburger Helper!”

“We can't pretend it's going to go away!” Bev snaps, like she’s as fucking crazy as Bill. “Ben, you said yourself, it comes back every 27 years.”

“Fine!” Ben says. “I'll be forty and far away from here.” And it’s so hard not to laugh at that, because Richie knows it’s not true, that they’ll all come back and it won’t end well. “I thought you said you wanted to get out of this town too.”

“Because I want to run  _ towards _ something, not away."

“I'm sorry, but who invited Molly Ringwald into the group?” Richie motions wildly at Bev, who flips him off, and he probably deserves that, but fuck it; she may have saved his life just now, but she’s saying they need to keep chasing the fucking clown when they all fucking almost died, and she’s absolutely useless even twenty-seven years down the road. He's an asshole, but he has to stop this, and Beverly is doing nothing to help that now or in the future.

“Richie…” Stan says.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you? We’re all going to die if we keep doing this,” he says, nearly shouting now, and he should probably shut up now, but he can’t keep doing this, he  _ has _ to make them understand. “Let’s face facts, okay? Real world. Georgie is  _ dead _ . Stop trying to get us killed too.”

He knows immediately he’s said the wrong thing when he sees the rage pass over Bill’s face, sees Bill step towards him with fury all over his face. “Georgie is not dead.”

Richie knows he should stop, but he can’t. “You couldn't save him, but you could still save yourself. You can still save  _ all of us _ , Bill…” 

“No!” Bill shouts, on the verge of tears, jabbing a finger in Richie’s face. “T-t-t-take it back. You're scared, and we all are, but take it back!” He shoves Richie then, and Richie doesn’t know what to do besides shove him back, and then Bill is punching him, socking him right in the face as hard as he can, not playing like they'd done years ago, maybe, but real. Like he wants to hurt Richie. 

Richie thinks Bev says something to Bill as he tumbles back on the ground, but he doesn’t really hear it; anger’s roaring in his ears like an ocean, drowning everything out. He stumbles to his feet and lunges back at Bill. Stan and Mike are holding him back, but he’s still fighting, he’s screaming at Bill, and it takes him a minute to make out the words. He’s screaming, “You don’t get it, you don’t fucking get it, we’re all going to die doing this! We’re all going to fucking die!” But Bill doesn’t get it, or maybe he doesn’t care. Richie shoves his friends’ arms away, stumbling back, his face red with fury and incoming tears, and he can’t fucking do this. Not anymore. 

“Stop!” Bev yells, standing between them, her eyes hard with determination. “This is what It wants. It  _ wants  _ to divide us. We were all together when we hurt It.  _ That's  _ why we're still alive.”

“Yeah?” Richie snarls. “Well, I plan to keep it that way.” He’s storming off before he can say anything else because he won’t think about this anymore, he won’t keep chasing a clown long into adulthood only to come back and lose two of his best friends. He won’t fucking do it. He grabs his bike and climbs back on it, Ben and Stan trailing behind him, Mike a little further behind. He rides off without looking back, his jaw clenched to keep from screaming more or maybe crying for the five hundredth motherfucking time. 

They don’t go together, wherever they’re going; Ben turns off in a couple blocks, headed home, and Richie doesn’t see Mike again, so he assumes he’s gone back to the farm. Bill and Bev are nowhere near them, and Richie feels glad for about one second before he feels horrible. Stan rides with him until they reach his house, and tries to say something as they’re approaching his house—he says, “Richie,” in a prodding voice that sounds like he might be crying—and Richie knows he’s an asshole, but he ignores him. He doesn’t want to hear Stan lecture him about whatever just happened with Bill, and he doesn’t want to try and talk to Stan without thinking about him as an adult and him now lying in a pool of his own blood. So he says nothing, and Stan lets out a heavy sigh and takes an abrupt turn onto his own lawn. 

It feels like something has broken, within their group, and it feels like it might not ever mend. Maybe Richie should be glad—if they’re not together, then they can’t come back in twenty-seven years to die—but he doesn’t feel glad. He feels like absolute shit. He's still reeling from Bill punching him, from the fact that, for a second, Bill had looked like he hated him. 

He rides straight home and bangs in the house, running past his mom and dad’s concerned calls and straight up to his room. He doesn’t want to have to explain the bruises, especially the huge one on his face. (He’ll blame Bowers when he eventually explains it, the same way he suspects Ben and Eddie will, but he isn’t in the mood right now.) He bursts into his room and slams the door behind him, crawls into bed with dirty clothes and pulls the covers over his head. The last thing he wants to do in the world is sleep right now, but he can’t really hold it off, his eyes are slipping shut; he’s falling asleep before he knows it, his face pressed into the sheet even though it's smeared with dirt and snot and tears.

\---

Richie stays in bed for the rest of the day, even when his mom comes and knocks on the door and asks him to go eat dinner and watch fireworks in the park like they always do. (“I am beyond good, Mom,” he calls from his spot under the covers. “I feel like absolute shit.”

“Language, Richard,” she says. “And you’ve always loved the fireworks show! I bet your friends will be there, too, I’m surprised you all aren’t already down there.”

Richie grits his teeth so hard that his dad is probably having a dentist aneurysm somewhere. “No, thanks, Mom! I’m going back to sleep!” 

And thank god she actually fucking listens, telling him to feel better and that she’ll bring him back food. He must actually sound horrible if she’s giving up this easy.)

He spends the afternoon drifting in and out of sleep—and therefore in and out of nightmares. They’re not quite the same as usual, since he’s mostly seeing stuff that’s already happening: his friends screaming, Eddie crying out in pain, Ben bleeding all over the place, the clown looming over him, Adult Eddie and Stan covered in blood, regular Eddie and Stan covered in blood. There’s a mix of the regular old weird cryptic images mixed in as well, of fucking course. Shit like his friends all standing around holding hands in a circle, and Adult Them all gathered around the table, laughing and talking. It pisses Richie the fuck off. Why show him that if he’s already lost it? 

Richie gets up once to go to the bathroom, sees the bruise on his cheek, and ends up kicking the shit out of the medicine cabinet. When he gets back to his room, he sees the photo strip from the movie theater pinned above his desk, all of them crowded in the photo booth and making goofy faces, and he starts crying all over again. He feels pathetic as shit. Maybe he shouldn't, but he misses them all right now, even Bill. 

He sleeps in pathetic little snatches, right through the fireworks and everything, until he gets tired of the nightmares, and that’s when he finally gets up. It’s not too terribly late, and the house is way too silent, so he’s guessing that his parents and sister are still out. He doesn’t care. He goes downstairs and makes a crappy sandwich before going back upstairs. He finds a dog-eared copy of  _ Hatchet _ , which he hasn’t read since at least sixth grade, so it feels like it’s time to revisit it. He’s remembering suddenly how he first read it: he and Bill picked it for required reading in the summer between fifth and sixth grade, and loved it, and talked Stan and Eddie into reading it. They talked about it all summer, hypothesizing what they would do if they were stranded out in the wilderness. They spent the summer pretending they were survivalists in the woods, running around trying to make weapons and pretending to fight off wolves and moose, trying to build shelters, and letting Georgie follow them around sometimes when Bill’s parents wanted them to watch him. It was one of the best summers of Richie’s life, and remembering it now makes him want to throw his book across the room, but he doesn’t. He eats in bed and reads the book for like an hour, confirming his previous suspicions that  _ Hatchet  _ is definitely one of the best books in the goddamn world. 

He’s still reading nearly an hour later when someone knocks on his bedroom door. Richie yanks the covers over his head and ignores it; his family must’ve gotten back. And then there's another knock, and another, and another, repetitive and insistent. Richie yanks the covers back off, shoving the book aside, and snaps, "Ma, I'm trying to sleep, go away!"

"Richie, it's me, fucking  _ let me in _ ," Eddie says from the other side pointedly, and fuck, Richie doesn't care how he got in here or anything like that, he's immediately scrambling out of bed and heading for the door. He yanks it open and finds Eddie in the hallway, his arm encased in a bright white cast. 

Eddie says, simply, "You fucking idiot." His voice breaks on the word  _ idiot _ , and he jerks forward and wraps his arms around Richie, clutching him tightly, his cast hard against Richie's spine. 

Richie hugs him back immediately, as tight as he can, and tells himself, _He is not dead he is okay and I'm not going to let him or Stan die and that wasn't him in the house and we made it out okay, it's all okay._ Maybe the group is broken up forever or not, he doesn’t know, but he can’t bring himself to care. His fingers are digging desperately into the back of Eddie's shirt. 

Eddie's still talking at a rapid speed. "You're so fucking stupid, Rich, why would you run  _ right at  _ something that wants to  _ eat  _ you? It almost bit your head off! You almost fucking  _ died _ , why are you so fucking stupid?" His voice is muffled from where his face is pressed into Richie's shoulder, but he sounds a little like he is crying. 

"I—I didn't almost die," Richie says stupidly, near tears himself. He wipes his eyes with the back of one hand. " _ You  _ almost died. I thought you were gonna… You broke your arm. I was trying to get you  _ out _ , you fucking numbskull." 

Eddie pulls back to look at him, sniffling and rapidly wiping his eyes. "You would've been  _ eaten,  _ Richie," he says pointedly. "You would've… we  _ both _ almost died, okay?"

"Okay," Richie says, and swallows hard. "Are you okay? D-does your arm hurt?"

Eddie winces. "Only a little," he says softly, sniffling again and turning to shove the door closed. "They gave me some painkillers at the doctor's. Where'd that bruise come from?" 

"Bill," Richie says truthfully, wincing immediately. He understands why, he shouldn’t have said what he said about Georgie, but it's still so hard to believe, that Bill  _ slugged _ him. 

" _ Seriously _ ?" Eddie asks incredulously. “Bill?”

"We… argued. Didn't end well, whatever." Richie rubs at his face, determined not to cry again. "How the fuck did you get in here?"

"Seduced your mother," Eddie says, and Richie lets out a strangled, stunned laugh. "You left your key at my house and didn’t even  _ notice _ , of course. I found it two weeks ago." He retrieves the key from his pocket and puts it on Richie's desk. 

"Eddie Spaghetti, world class burglar," Richie mutters exhaustedly, collapsing on the bed. He kind of wants to go back to sleep but he really, really, really doesn’t want to dream again. He wants to beg Eddie to stay, he wants to tell him to go away because he can't save him and he lets him die. But he can't do either of those things, so he offers a pathetic, "What's our next job, mac?"

"You'd be a shitty burglar, you never shut the fuck up," Eddie says, sitting down next to him. Richie shuts his eyes, because he really is tired and he doesn't want to think about the house or the cave or anything like that, so he doesn't see it when Eddie grabs his hand with his un-casted one, slotting their fingers together on the mattress between them. 

Richie freezes then, his hand limp. He can't remember the last time they held hands; he's tried not to think about it very much anymore. They used to do it all the time when they were really little, a leftover habit from when their kindergarten teacher would make them walk in a huge line holding hands so no one would get lost. And then they stopped, Richie thinks because someone saw them and said something about it. It's been years, he thinks, and he moves to hold on just as tightly because how can he  _ not  _ when they both almost fucking died today, even though he can still hear Adult Eddie saying,  _ You thought we leave Derry together? Why would I leave with you? _

It's not real, he tries to tell himself, it wasn't Eddie, it was just the clown, but it's all coming back to him then: he let them die, he hasn't told them about the dreams, he didn't save Eddie in the house and he won't save Eddie  _ or  _ Stan in thirty or twenty-seven years, and Eddie would never want to leave with him, and he sees the clown's teeth bared to eat him alive and hears his friends screaming and hears Adult Eddie taunting him, accusing him of letting him die, and then Richie's crying. He's crying and trying to be quiet about it, and scrubbing at his face with the hand that's not in Eddie's, wincing every time he touches the bruise.

"Rich," Eddie says suddenly, his voice too soft, "hey, Rich, it's okay, we got out…"

"What, hey, what are you talking about, I'm  _ fine _ ," Richie says, and scrubs harder at his face. He hates this, he hates the whole stupid thing. "I am totally and completely fine, Eds, look at me. Don't I sound fine?"

"You definitely do not sound fine," says Eddie seriously, squeezing his hand again. 

"Well, I am," Richie says muffledly, covering his face with one hand. "I'm just… glad we all made it out okay and that you're not dead and that your arm isn't totally mangled. I am amazing."

"I was just saying…" Eddie begins, and he sounds like he might cry again, too. "We got out. It's over now, we're okay, we don't have to go back…"

Richie laughs, probably meaner than he should. "It is definitely not fucking over, Eds," he says, and he's exhausted as soon as he says it, because he can't keep doing this and he can't just keep waiting for this to happen all over again twenty-seven years later, and he doesn't want to do it anymore. And he's crying again, and he extracts his hand from Eddie's to more fully cover his face. Eddie shifts and wraps an arm around Richie's shoulders, and Richie doesn't bother to try and shove him off; he doesn't want to, even if he thinks he should. He leans his head on Eddie's shoulder because he doesn't know what the fuck else to do and cries (he hears Fake Clown Adult Eddie saying again,  _ You don't want them to know that you cry like a little baby _ and wants to die a little). He cries for a few good minutes, still hiding behind his hands with Eddie's arm around his back, and Eddie keeps holding on.

It feels like forever until either of them speaks again. Eddie waits until he has calmed down and stopped sobbing and getting snot all over the place to say gently, "What do you mean, Rich?"

“What do I mean about what,” Richie mumbles. 

“When you say it’s not over, what do you mean?” Eddie says, not unkindly. "You need to tell me what's going on, Richie."

"What do  _ you  _ mean, what's going on?" says Richie, maybe a little too harshly. "We all almost  _ died  _ today, Eddie, that's what's going on."

“No, no, it's been going on longer than that. You’ve been weird ever since, like, way before this ever happened. Since like the first day of summer. Before that, actually! You've been jumpy and tired all the time, and you act like you're hiding something. You told me you were having, like, weird clown dreams, and then when we said we had seen a clown, too, you acted like we were nuts. A-and the clown said something about you lying to us… and now you're acting like you know what's going to happen in the future? What are you not telling us?"

"I can't fucking tell you," Richie snaps. 

"Richie…" says Eddie, somewhere between stern and pleading.

"I'm not doing this!" He scoots away from Eddie on the bed, his hands clenching in his hair. "I can't fucking tell you… I can't tell you, Eds. You almost died today, and if we're not careful, it'll be fucking real next time. You should—you shouldn't hang out with me, Eddie, I'm gonna get you killed. You should go away, right now, because I-I'm gonna get you killed, Eds. We're gonna keep doing this and we're going to get ourselves killed, so you should go the  _ fuck  _ away." Richie buries his face in his arms because he can't look at Eddie and he wants to take back what he said but he doesn't know how else to save them, and he can't let them die. He'll call Stan and say the same thing to him if it'll save him; he doesn't want to lose his friends, his best friends in the world, but he's already lost Bill and maybe the others, and he doesn't know how else to protect them. 

"Fuck you," Eddie says, and his voice is sharp, but Richie thinks he might be crying. "Fuck you, Richie."

He almost says,  _ I'm sorry. _ He almost says meaner things, because if Eddie hates him (if Stan hates him if they all hate him), then maybe he won't let them die someday because they won't be there in the first place. It’s what he’d thought when Bill punched him, that it was horrible but maybe it would save them all. (But what if that means they just go without him and they die anyway because he's not there to stop it, what if he's making it worse.) He doesn't say anything. He keeps his face pressed into the blanket as Eddie stands up and crosses the room, heading for the door. He wants to tell him to stop. He doesn't say anything. He tries to muffle his sobs with the blanket.

And then the footsteps are headed back his way, and Eddie is grabbing him by the shirt, the way he did in the house. Richie doesn't look up. "What the fuck do you mean, I'm gonna die if I keep hanging out with you?" he snaps, tugging at Richie's shirt hard. Richie doesn't say anything. Eddie yanks harder, like he wants to drag Richie right off the bed. "Richie,  _ Bill  _ is the one who dragged us into a haunted house today, not fucking you! You were pretty goddamn clear we shouldn't go in! Why are you being such an asshole, why would I  _ die  _ if—"

"Because I've seen it!" Richie nearly shouts, sitting up to look Eddie in the face. He shuts up at that, shock all over his face, still holding onto Richie's shirt. Richie swallows and pulls out of his grasp, crawling away. "I-I've seen the future, Eds," he says softly. "I-I-I know what happens. We're still… fighting this fucking clown when it comes back in twenty-seven years. I don't know  _ why _ , but we are, and when we come back… you die." He takes a sharp breath and plunges on, remembering,  _ You lie about your dreams.  _ "Y-y-you and Stan, you both die. And I… I don't stop it. I let you fucking die, I've seen it like a thousand fucking times, and you need to get the fuck away from me because I let you and Stan die, and I  _ can't _ let it happen for real."

He looks back at Eddie, a little terrified, and finds him staring with wide eyes, his mouth half open. He looks just as terrified as Richie feels, and Richie's stomach twists. "Rich, I… I need to go," he says in a rush. "I need to go. Before my mom wakes up."

"Eddie, no, wait. Wait, wait, don't go," Richie blurts, but he's already turning towards the door. "Please, don't go, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he tries, pleading, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Eddie's already at the door, pushing the door open. "Eds," Richie says, but it's barely audible, it comes out as a whimper. 

"I-I'm sorry," Eddie says, his breathing growing shallower, his casted arm clutched to his chest. He's fumbling for his inhaler. "I'm sorry, I-I really… I have to go. I have to go, Rich." And he pushes through the door and is gone, just like that. Richie can hear his frantic footsteps echoing as he runs down the hall and then down the stairs. 

Richie lets out a strangled scream and punches the wall as hard as he can, hard enough that his knuckles probably bruise. He fucking hates himself. He’s pretty sure he’s just lost every single one of his friends, and scared the shit out of Eddie on top of it. After he’d snuck out of fucking  _ Shawshank  _ to come over and check on Richie. He’s such a fucking asshole. 

He collapses into a heap on the bed and, after hurling  _ Hatchet  _ across the room like a missile, he yanks the covers back over his head and wipes his face on his pillow. He’s already crying all over again.

When he finally falls back asleep, he dreams again. Of course he does. But it’s not the cave this time, or Neibolt. It’s not even Adult Bev offering cryptic fucking clues. It’s just the seven of them, hanging out together. Cramming into the photobooth, cracking up together in the clubhouse, splashing around in the quarry, crowded onto Ben’s living room rug. The seven of them holding hands in the field again, and Richie gets the feeling it’s important, maybe even connected to this whole big clown mess, but it doesn’t scare him. He might’ve expected it to, but it doesn’t. It feels, oddly, like something broken being knit back together. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to think this chapter is a little lighter than the last one; it deals with the fight and such, so it's not 100% light, but i do think it's getting better. this is kind of the beginning of the upswing part of the fic. in terms of writing, i'm mostly done--i have a little over a chapter left--so posting hopefully may be a little more regular from here on out!
> 
> warning for some internalized homophobia (mostly in the context of richie's flashbacks in chapter 2) and some discussion of stan's death.

Richie dreams about Adult Bev again the day after Neibolt. 

It's the kind of day where he literally does fucking nothing, because what else is he supposed to do? He's down six friends and he aches all over from being thrown around by the clown and punched by one of his oldest friends, so it's not like he's gonna go anywhere. He lies around on the couch watching bad daytime television and eating Rice Krispies straight out of the box. His dad comments that this is the most he's seen Richie at home all summer and it takes everything in him not to snap at that. He lies on the couch all day and goes to bed absurdly early, and as soon as he falls asleep, he's dreaming. He can at least be grateful for the fact that it's not the usual cave-and-Neibolt shit. 

The dream takes place in a living room that Richie's never seen before that looks completely foreign to him—future shit, he guesses. The walls are, like,  _ all  _ glass, and there's something that looks like a TV but all huge and skinny, and there's this weird silvery rectangle on a coffee table that lights up and starts buzzing. Richie cranes his neck to look at it and sees his own name on the front over a green circle with a phone shape in it. "What the fuck is  _ that _ ?" he mutters, poking at it with one finger. 

"Richie?" He turns around and finds Adult Bev on some weird-looking couch with a huge dog asleep in her lap. She winces a little when he turns to face her, which probably means she's noticed his bruise, and she says sympathetically, "You, um… have you and Bill fought?"

"No fucking  _ shit  _ we fought," Richie snaps, and kicks the leg of the coffee table. "He punched me in the fucking face! He's gone insane, and so have you, you want us to fucking  _ keep chasing the clown!  _ We're gonna fucking die!"

Bev's face softens a little bit, her fingers tangling in the dog's fur. "Richie…" she starts, but Richie won't let her finish. "Why wouldn't you tell me what happened in Neibolt?" he hisses. "Why the fuck wouldn't you tell me that, I never would've gone in if I'd fucking known! Eddie almost fucking died, a-and broke his arm, and Ben got like  _ slashed _ , and I almost got eaten, and I wouldn't have fucking  _ gone in  _ if I'd known! No fucking way!" And he kicks the coffee table again, so hard it wobbles a little and the weird brick that says  _ Missed called from RICHIE _ falls to the ground. 

"Richie, I'm  _ sorry, _ " Adult Bev says, with just enough sympathy in her voice to make him think she might mean it. She sits up straighter, extracting herself from underneath the dog and leaning forward on the couch. "The dream went out before I could explain anyway, and I-I'm still not entirely sure how this all works. I mean, I'm talking to one of my best friends from twenty-seven years in the past… I'm not entirely sure that this is even real, or how much I could affect what happened, you know? I mean, I know that we all got out the first time, but what if I changed that?" She shakes her head tightly. "I don't want to risk anything like that, any of us getting hurt…"

"Why does it matter?" Richie says, and he really thinks he is going to cry. He sits clumsily on the ground, crossing his legs, and looks down at the ground to hide the tears in his eyes. "What does it matter, if Eddie and Stan die anyway?"

Adult Bev doesn't say anything for a minute. When she finally says, "You're right. It doesn't," her voice is thick, like she's gonna cry, too. 

Richie pokes at the fancy rug, combing through it with his fingers. "This house is fucking ridiculous, Bevvie," he says, because he doesn't know what else to even say. "Big Bill buy you somewhere nice?"

"What?" Bev sounds confused. "What do you mean?"

Richie changes the subject, because yeah, he's maybe not the happiest with the Golden Couple (or whatever) right now. "I guess I should thank you," he says, because he probably should. "You did save my life, stabbing that fucking clown when he grabbed me and was trying to eat me. And it's not like I've thanked you yet… Have I thanked you in the future? Did I ever get a chance?"

"Richie, what are you—" He looks up, and sees Adult Bev looking no less confused. She's looking at him like he's crazy. "The clown  _ grabbed _ you?"

"Um,  _ yeah.  _ It was about to bite my head off and then you stabbed me." Richie gives her a look like,  _ Are you nuts? _ (Yeah, probably.) "Did you  _ forget _ or something?" 

"For a while, yes, but that's not the point…" Bev says dismissively. "I-I did save you in Neibolt, but… I saved Bill, too. The clown was lunging at you both, or something like that, and that's when I stabbed it."

"Uh, no, that's  _ not _ what happened," Richie replies, pointedly. "I went to go get Eddie away from the stupid fucking clown,  _ by myself _ , and then the clown grabbed me and tried to eat me, and you ran over and stabbed it through the head. Bill was like over somewhere else."

Bev's eyes are wide, like he's said something insane. "That's not what happened to me," she says slowly. "You and Bill were standing off to the side, and the clown didn't get to either of you. I'm sure of it."

"The clown definitely fucking got me," says Richie irritably, sick of the weird denial, and pulls aside his shirt collar to show her the black and blue bruises the clown's fucking finger-claws left on his shoulders. 

Adult Bev sucks in a surprised breath when she sees it, her eyes getting even wider. Richie yanks his shirt collar back, bunching his shoulders up defensively. "Hey, why the fuck does it even  _ matter _ ? So the clown grabbed me and you don't remember that! Who fucking cares?"

Adult Bev's eyes are a little wild, the way Regular Bev's were right before she brained Henry Bowers, right before she insisted they needed to go after the clown again. "I need to call Mike," she says absently. 

"No, hey, fuck that!" Richie says loudly. "What you  _ need  _ to do is tell me what happens next! You knew about me and Bill fighting, right? So that happened in your version of this shit? It doesn't stop us from still being friends twenty-seven years later?" His heart honestly sinks a little at that; as much as this has all hurt, he's been hoping it'd done the trick and done something to make sure Eddie and Stan would live. He was hoping it'd had  _ purpose.  _

Adult Bev looks back at him, and she's giving him that weird motherly look from last time. "No, no, of course not," she says softly. "We… we made up. It didn't last."

_ Maybe it should,  _ Richie doesn't say. Or:  _ Maybe we won't, this time, because I'm pretty sure telling Eddie about this has scared him off forever.  _ "Okay, fine, whatever," he says, pulling on the threads of the rug. "Look, you've gotta tell me everything that happens, okay? Everything! I'm not fucking kidding. If there's anything I can prevent, any more broken arms or whatever shit like that, tell me right goddamn now, Bev, I  _ need _ to know."

"Richie, I don't know how much I should tell you," Adult Bev says, sounding nervous for some fucking reason. "We don't fully understand this, whatever is happening here, and—"

"Seriously,  _ fuck  _ that," Richie says vehemently. "Fuck it to the moon and back!"

"Rich, it's not about," Bev begins, and never finishes, because that weird fucking rectangle that Richie is starting to suspect is a phone lights up with his name on it again, making a sudden sharp buzzing sound that fills the entire room. It startles Richie awake, yelping aloud as he opens his eyes to his empty bedroom. 

He groans, flipping onto his back and rubbing at his eyes. " _ Real  _ fucking helpful," he says to no one in particular. If he and Beverly ever hang out again, he is going to lecture her on the importance of  _ clarity.  _ And being very honest to younger dream versions of her friends in the future; that seems like an important detail. All he learned from tonight's useless dream is that Neibolt went slightly different for him than for Adult Bev (and possibly, based on context clues, that Adult Mike is the new Bill), and honestly, what difference does that make? They still fought, the group still broke up, and he's still dreaming about Eds and Stan dying. He doesn't see how the future is gonna be any goddamn different. 

\---

By the third day of isolation, Richie is fucking sick of sitting around watching  _ The Price Is Right.  _ He ventures out to the movie theater to see  _ Nightmare on Elm Street 5 _ again because he's sure he won't run into anyone except maybe Ben there. In fact, he sees absolutely none of his friends, even on the walk there, which he should probably be grateful for but he's really just bummed about. He hasn't been this lonely since the two weeks last summer when Stan went to the beach and Eddie went to visit his aunts and Bill went to camp without them and he was left to rattle around Derry alone. 

The theater sucks, too, without anyone to joke about the movie with. At least until some guy starts hanging over the seat beside Richie, making fun of him for how often he's jumping at the scary parts. Another time, Richie might've thought he was just being a dick, but something in the dude's voice makes it good-natured. He keeps shooting Richie these sideways smirks that make his stomach turn, and fuck it, it's not like he has anyone else to hang out with. He rags on the dude right back until they're both smirking at each other in the blue light of the screen.

The guy's name is Connor, apparently, and he hangs out with Richie in the arcade for a while after, playing Street Fighter with Richie's tokens. They keep jostling into each other as they play, and Connor keeps smirking at him, and it feels so easy, so purposeful, that Richie can't help but be a little charmed. He's lonely, and this guy is cool, and is it really so wrong for him to want to keep hanging out with him? With someone who actually  _ wants  _ to hang out with him, who keeps looking at him like that? 

He beats the guy four times in a row, and Connor ends the fourth game with, "You're fucking good." He high-fives Richie, and their hands lingers for a little too long and Richie's heart is definitely pounding too hard. 

"Well, uh, I gotta go," Connor says then, turning away, and Richie blurts, "Hey!" without thinking, because he can't stand the way Connor keeps grinning at him and he really doesn't want to be alone again. He has one last token left; he grabs it and holds it up. "Um, how about we… go again?" he says lamely. "Play some more, you know?" Connor's face is changing now, turning nervous or something like that as he looks over his shoulder, and it's making Richie nervous, too, like maybe he's overstepped. He adds quickly, "Only if you want to."

Three people enter, talking loudly, and Richie realizes why Connor is probably nervous,  _ fuck _ : it's Bowers and his goons. He's ready to suggest they go somewhere else instead, literally  _ anywhere _ else, when Connor says in a raised voice, a sudden cruel edge to it, "Why are you being weird? I'm not your fucking boyfriend."

"Whoa, I…" Richie's stunned, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now, and he can't take his eyes off Bowers. Fuck, he should've known this was a  _ horrible _ fucking idea. "I didn't…"

"The fuck's going on here?" Bowers asks, approaching them of fucking  _ course _ . Connor is saying something about Derry and about him, and Richie is pushing down hurt and anger and mentally kicking himself, because how much of an idiot does he have to be to spend the afternoon with a friend of fucking  _ Henry Bowers _ ? And then Bowers is turning on him, saying, "You trying to bone my little cousin?" and Richie can't even speak to defend himself, can't even move. He feels sick, he feels like he's going to hurl or sink right into the ground. Bowers screams at him to get out, uses the words Richie's heard whispered at him in the hall or scribbled on the wall of the bathroom, and everyone is looking at him, everyone's going to  _ know _ . 

"Fucking  _ move _ !" Bowers shouts, and Richie runs for the door. Runs out of the theater and doesn't stop, pushing his way through the streets of town and heading straight for the park, picking up speed as he goes. He wants to throw up, he wants to vanish, he wants to make sure Bowers isn't following him but he also can't really bring himself to care. If the clown doesn't come after him, it makes sense that Bowers would. He always knew this town would clobber the shit out of him.

He runs into the empty park, past the giant Paul Bunyan statue and to the empty benches where he'd sat with his friends just a few days earlier. He thinks he's never been lonelier in his life, he thinks this is the worst summer he's ever had. He really  _ is _ alone—if there's anyone from school that might've wanted to hang out with him before, they definitely aren't going to want to now. 

He's crying for the ten millionth goddamn time and he shoves his glasses up to cover his face, wipe his eyes. He should've fucking known better, should've stayed home, should've kept his mouth shut, why can he never fucking keep his mouth shut? Adult Eddie or the clown or  _ whatever _ the fuck it was warned him; he's brought this on himself. He should've known  _ better _ . He doesn't know if he'll ever be able to stop crying. 

And then he hears a deep, discordant voice saying, " _ Want a kiss, Richie? _ " 

Richie's insides pretzel together, his heart pounding even harder somehow, and he shoves his glasses back on his face in time to see the empty space in front of him where the Paul Bunyan statue used to stand. He gasps a little in fear, shaking like a leaf—the fucking clown, of fucking  _ course _ , this is the  _ worst  _ fucking summer. He hears a sound to his left and turns to see the fucking statue looming over him, his decaying mouth open, exposing a flurry of bats. 

Richie screams. He scrambles off the bench, hitting the ground and rolling, as Paul Bunyan raises his fucking axe thing and brings it down on the bench, shattering it. Oh god, he's gonna die, he's gonna fucking die. He keeps sprinting away as the statue swings the axe wildly, cutting furrows in the ground, almost spearing him a couple times. He weaves away towards town, yelling as loud as he can, but the spear hits the ground before him, cutting him off, and he tumbles back onto the ground, his glasses flying off. 

The statue looms blurrily over him, laughing wildly like every dream Richie has ever had, and Richie shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to see what's going to kill him. He thinks of Bill, oddly, and everything he said to comfort Richie, and he shuts his eyes and yells, "It's not real, it's not real, it's not real!" as loud as he possibly can, because maybe that'll make it go away. No, wait, what the fuck, he  _ knows _ it's real, he's gonna fucking die. But he keeps screaming, "It's not real!" anyways until the sounds fade, the impression of a shape looming over him goes away. He finds his glasses in the grass and shoves them back on, and it's gone. The statue is back where it belongs, over on its pedestal, the bench is whole again, and he's somehow still alive. He's  _ alive _ .

"I think I just shit my pants," he gasps out, and collapses heavily back on the grass. He hates this stupid fucking town so much. 

When he finally sits up, his hands shaking all over again, he's not alone in the park anymore. There's a dude standing off to the side, looking at him. Richie blinks, and it becomes clear who it is: it's Adult Him, looking off into the distance and right past Richie himself. 

One of the future-ghost moments again, Richie thinks, and he is  _ not  _ in the mood, but he still can't look away. He watches Ghost Adult Richie until someone runs right into him, shoving a flyer in his hands. Adult Richie looks stunned, watching the guy walk away, and then the guy looks back towards them, and Richie can see his face. It's all gray and decomposed, with bloody cuts, and Richie really is gonna barf. He gets clumsily to his feet and turns around, not wanting to watch anymore, and then one of the guy's flyers flies right at him and hits him in the face. He grabs it before it can flutter away and almost chokes. It's a flyer with his adult face on it, a flyer for his  _ funeral. 1976-2016, _ it says. That's twenty-seven years from now. Twenty-seven years, so the same year that Stan and Eddie die.

The flyer crumples in Richie's shaking hands, nausea washing over him, and he looks frantically back to Adult Him and the zombie-guy only to find them gone, they've disappeared. And when he looks back down at the flyer in his hands, it's gone, too. 

There's a trash can nearby; Richie lurches toward it and retches noisily. As soon as he's done, wiping sweat off his forehead, he runs all the way home because he is absolutely  _ done _ with all of this. 

\---

A couple hours after Richie gets home, his sister knocks on his door, yelling, "Hey, Richie, look alive! One of your little friends is on the phone."

Richie lifts his arm from where it covers his face, sitting up with interest. Someone  _ called  _ him? He can't believe it. He wants to talk to about anyone right now, even Bev, even Bill. "W-who is it?" he asks, pushing his glasses back on his face. 

"Uh, that Eddie kid, I think. He said something about needing to talk to you before his mom wakes up."

Richie lurches immediately for the door, but freezes as soon as his hand hits the doorknob. He's suddenly remembering the fear on Eddie's face when he told him the truth, the hurt in his voice when Richie had told him to get away and he'd told him to fuck off. He's remembering how Eddie ran off in the end. He  _ can't _ talk to him. He doesn't want to explain what's happened, what he's been seeing, and he doesn't want to get yelled at, and he doesn't want to scare him again, and he can still hear Bowers's voice in the back of his head, calling him that word. Can hear Fake Adult Eddie with that cruel clown edge in its voice.

"Hello?" His sister bangs on the door. "Are you coming or not, asshole? I'm not your fucking receptionist!"

He sits back on his bed in a heap, covering his face with his hands. "Tell him I can't come to the phone," he says.

\---

Richie's plan for the week is to never leave the house again—it's actually a good plan, he hasn't had any weird dreams since the night of the Adult Bev dream, so his house is  _ slightly _ less freaky to him—but it doesn't end up working out, because his mother kicks him out the next morning with instructions to stay outside for a few hours if he's not going to help her deep-clean. And, well, Richie doesn't want to clean, of  _ course.  _

So he grabs a bunch of Twinkies, a stack of old comics, and his old pocket knife (a lame attempt at defense in case the clown attacks him again) and walks idly towards the Barrens, cause where else is he gonna go? Not to the arcade, not to the park, fucking obviously. What's the point of the quarry alone? Maybe if he's lucky, everyone else is avoiding the clubhouse and he can chill there for a little while. 

It turns out going to the Barrens is an absolutely horrible idea, though, because wrapped up in the Barrens is a whole lot of memories he literally does not want to touch. He and Stan and Bill and Eddie have been playing down there their whole lives. They decided to build the dam down there in March to cheer Bill up after Georgie, that's how he found out that the sewers empty down there. They used to play hide-and-seek down there after school, splash around in the creek before they got the courage to mess around in the quarry. They tried and desperately failed to build a fort—that's where the dam idea came from, because Stan said they should start smaller. And now they actually  _ have  _ a fort down here that Richie can't even go to, because he might run into his friends. Fucking great.

He tries to segue sharply away from memories, because he's getting seriously bummed out and he can't stand it. He tries to think about the movie he watched yesterday, the last episode of SNL, the possibility of getting a good ventriloquist dummy for Christmas. But he just ends up remembering the time that the four of then went camping down in the Barrens last summer, before the murders started and the parents got scared to let them outside. They lied to Eddie's mom and said they were sleeping over at Bill's, and Richie paid off Georgie to try and answer the phone first every time it rang to intercept Mrs. K's calls. They got this giant tent from Stan's dad and musty sleeping bags from Richie's attic and a bunch of fishing poles—Richie insisted they could catch their food, like real survivalists, and then they caught absolutely nothing. Stan was the only one who knew how to make a fire (from a stint in Boy Scouts in elementary school) and had to remake it a record three times because Eddie and Richie kept accidentally putting it out. Eddie burned all his hot dogs to an absolute crisp because he was worried about undercooking them and getting diseases. Bill made horribly messy Smores that melted all over the place and got everything sticky. Eddie woke Richie up in the middle of the night insisting there were bears outside and had grabbed onto his arm and hadn't let go until Bill finally went outside and confirmed the notable lack of bears. It's one of the best memories Richie has; it makes him want to do it all over again but with Mike and Ben and Bev there, all of them together. He misses them all so goddamn much.

By the time Richie's reached the Kissing Bridge, he's exhausted from the onslaught of painful memories and walking for forty minutes in the heat. He sits with his back against the bridge and shuts his eyes to keep out the sweat running down his face. This bridge is creepy as shit and he should definitely hate it, but for some reason, all he can think about think now is the hour or so he and Eddie spent here back in April waiting to meet up with Bill. Bill had been incredibly late, and it didn't feel right to rag on him  _ or  _ split, so they'd just hung around on the bridge, goofing off and reading the carvings. Richie made up obnoxious stories behind the couples and gave them all different voices, and Eddie pretended he wasn't cracking up, offering his own absurd details to the story until they were both bent in half from laughing like crazy.

Richie remembers suddenly, painfully: Eddie had wanted to carve their names in the bridge. Not in a  _ romantic  _ way—just like,  _ Eddie and Richie were here  _ or something like that. Something they could come back and see in twenty years or something, he'd explained. Something to remember them by. But Richie's face had gotten hot with nervous embarrassment at the suggestion, trying not to think of all the things he wanted it to mean but that it couldn't  _ possibly _ mean. He'd scoffed it off as  _ People will think there's something between us, Eds, d'ya want that?  _ leaning over to pinch his cheek and half-hoping he'd say yes. (Wanting him desperately to say yes.) But Eddie's face had turned super red, too, and he'd slipped into wild denials and muttered something about Richie being an asshole, and Richie had wanted to apologize, had been  _ ready  _ to apologize, but then Bill had shown up and the whole thing had been forgotten. He hasn't thought about it since til just now. 

The stupid thing was that he'd really  _ wanted  _ to carve that with Eddie; he'd liked the idea as soon as he heard it. It was what people  _ did  _ on the Kissing Bridge, and he didn't know if he'd ever get a chance to do anything like that for himself. But stupid nervousness and self-doubt had risen up and made him act like he wasn't interested, no  _ way _ . And maybe it had been the right thing to do, cause look what fucking happens when he doesn't. He finally told Eddie the truth about the dumb fucking dreams and Eddie ran. He thought that Connor guy was flirting with him and he got chased away by Bowers. He should really stop trying to do anything but blow these ideas off. 

But Richie remembers the pocketknife in his pocket, and it's suddenly all he can think about. And he decides then that he's going to do it, right now, because their names  _ should  _ be up there, and he shouldn't have said no to Eddie the first time. He owes Eddie this, after blowing him off then and blowing him off yesterday and abandoning him in Neibolt and all of it. It'll be like an apology, if Eddie ever talks to him again. 

He pulls out his knife and crouches in front of the bridge, fully intending to carve  _ Richie and Eddie were here.  _ But it's a lie, because he is definitely fucking alone. He only gets through the R before pausing, before realizing that he wants to carve something else. He  _ shouldn't _ want to carve it, make no mistake about that, but he really really does anyway. Eddie isn't here, but he is, and he wants to put this down somewhere so it doesn't disappear. He wants to remember how he felt about Eddie, even if it  _ is _ wrong. He already knows he can never tell anyone else; maybe this is the closest he can ever get. Maybe he can come back in twenty-seven years and see it and it'll feel better then than it does now. 

So he finishes his carving, etching  _ \+ E _ carefully into the wood and checking over his shoulder constantly. If he sees anyone else, he'll tell them it's Eleanor Massey from school, but he's not sure anyone will believe that now that people know what he is. (And also maybe because he and Eleanor Massey haven't said three words to each other since middle school started, and they have nothing in common, but whatfuckingever.) He gets through the whole thing before anyone sees him, though, and breathes a sigh of relief when he's done, sagging against the wood. It takes him a second to realize that his forehead is against the carving, and he should probably recoil, but he doesn't. He'll allow himself this if nothing else. Worst fucking summer of his  _ life _ . 

Richie picks himself up from the bridge and decides to check at home and see if his mom's done, because he hates being around the Barrens and the bridge remembering all this shit. If nothing else, he can grab a Popsicle for his troubles. But literally as soon as he fucking turns around, he finds Eddie there, standing on the end of the bridge and staring at him. He yelps loudly, dropping the pocketknife in his pocket. 

Eddie looks just as shocked at his reaction. "You… okay, Rich?" he asks, uncertain. 

"Um, yeah." Richie's chewing his lower lip frantically, trying to move subtly away from the carving and hoping Eddie hadn't seen what he was doing. "Cool as fuck, Kaspbrak. Absolutely."

Because he's a fucking idiot, he tries to barge right past Eddie without talking. ( _ Yeah, that's gonna improve the fucking situation, Trashmouth, you idiot. _ ) But Eddie's voice turns frantic as he tries to pass, and he reaches out with his good hand to grab Richie's arm. "Richie, Richie, wait, I really need to talk to you," he says in a rush. 

It's enough to make Richie stop, the franticness in Eddie's voice making him nervous. He swallows hard, putting his hand in his pocket to hide how it's clenching into a tight fist. "Eddie, I'm sorry for the other night," he says in a rush, because he wants him to know. "I'm sorry for what I said, I-I didn't mean to freak you out or anything, I just…"

"Would you shut up and listen to me for a second, Rich, I'm trying to tell you something," Eddie says, tugging on his arm. " _ I'm  _ sorry, okay?" Richie shuts up, staring at him in surprise, his mouth half-open. Eddie tugs on his arm again, says, " _ I'm _ the one who should be sorry."

"What the fuck are  _ you  _ sorry for, Spaghetti?" Richie says in disbelief. "I'm the one who told you to fuck off and that you were gonna die. That I  _ let _ you die."

"And  _ I'm _ the one who ran off when you were all freaked out and crying," says Eddie in a rush, half stern and half guilty, like he feels bad about it. "So we're even, okay?"

"I don't think that makes us even," says Richie, because it definitely doesn't.

"Richie, come on, I don't have time for this, okay? I snuck out while my mom is taking a nap, and if she wakes up and finds me gone, I'll be in even deeper shit. I'm sorry, and you're sorry, and that's the end of it, okay? Can we call it even? Please?" 

Eddie's got this look in his eyes that Richie can't quite place, and it's making Richie want to hug him and apologize again and run away all at once, so he just swallows hard and nods. "Okay. Okay, yeah, we're even."

"Okay." Eddie nods, too, and lets go of his arm. "What happens in your dreams, Richie?" he asks, more gently this time.

Richie shakes his head immediately. "You don't wanna hear about that."

"I definitely, definitely  _ do _ ," Eddie says pointedly. "You said this is the future, right? Me and Stan die in the future? How else are we supposed to make that  _ not happen _ ?"

"I was working on that, okay?" Richie says as they turn back towards town, keeping pace with Eddie. "What, you think I was just gonna  _ let _ you guys die? Or, I mean, let it happen  _ again _ ? I'm gonna save you, both of you, I'm not gonna fucking let it happen. I promise."

"You're gonna do that all by yourself?" Eddie says, not like he doesn't think Richie can do it, but almost like he's worried. There's definitely a difference. "That's a lot to handle all on your own, Rich. What if you forget something, or mess something up?"

"I figured that was better than telling everybody I was dreaming about our adult selves hanging out in some cave. I figured you guys would think I'm goddamn nuts."

"Does the clown…  _ live  _ in the cave?" Eddie asks, his face wrinkled in confusion. 

Richie shrugs. "I dunno, man, I haven't been able to get very much information. Adult Bev won't tell me fucking  _ anything.  _ Didn't Big Bill say it lives in a well?" 

" _ Adult Bev _ ? Richie, you gotta give me some context here."

Richie sighs, rubbing at his forehead with one hand. "Eds, are you sure you wanna hear about this? It's not exactly pretty, you know. It's not  _ coincidental _ that I've been waking up screaming a shitton for the past few weeks."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Richie, yes. You shouldn't have to go through this on your own, okay?" Eddie's staring at him like he can't believe it. "You… you've been waking up screaming?"

Richie shrugs again. "They're nightmares."

Eddie sighs, bumping his shoulder absently against Richie's. "Look, if the group was still together, I'd say we should tell everyone, but I guess we're not hanging out right now. So tell me, at least, and we'll figure this shit out. Together. Okay?" 

Richie sighs and says, "Okay," because as much as he really doesn't want to tell Eddie about the dreams, he's not sure he can get out of this. And yeah, it'd be nice to have someone else who knows about this shit, to not have to handle it alone. Maybe they can tag-team Big Bill the next time he wants to do something dumb. (Both of them together can probably  _ actually _ be successful at handcuffing Billy to the fence.) Maybe if they work together, they can really stop this thing.

So he tells Eddie everything. Or, well, almost everything. He doesn't really wanna disclose the part where the fucking clown pretended to be Adult Eddie and Stan and tried to eat him. But he tells him about all the visions, everything he's seen that's already happened: Betty Ripsom's shoe, Ben's stomach wound, Eddie's broken arm. The clown, of fucking course. He tells Eddie about the weird ghost-visions: the Adult Losers in the Barrens, the red dots (which Richie has come to suspect are bite marks) on Stan's face, Adult Bev. Adult  _ Him _ , in the park, although he mostly skates over that one. And he tells Eddie about what he's seen from when they're adults. How he eventually started recognizing all of them as adults, Bill and Mike and Ben and Bev and Stan, how he started seeing Ben and Bev and Mike after they all started hanging out this summer. "I think the clown comes back in twenty-seven years, like Ben told us," he explains, "and I think we all come back to fight it again. Except for Stan." 

He kind of doesn't wanna say anymore about that, but Eddie gets this weird look on his face and asks, "Why isn't Stan there?" and Richie has to tell him, then. 

"I think… I think it's cause he's already dead," he says reluctantly, wincing as he says it. "I recognized him second after I recognized you. I saw him… I saw him die in the bathtub, as an adult. He dies before he can come back."

Eddie's eyes are wide with horror, the same horror Richie's been feeling every single night, and he can't look anymore, so he looks away. "It's horrible," he says in a small voice, like he's a little kid, and he feels like crying again or vomiting or something but he stiffens all over and does none of the above. He reminds himself that Stan's alive, probably sitting in his house doing something super boring, and he's gonna  _ stay _ that way. They're gonna save him.

Eddie's voice is scared, too, when he speaks again, but it's also maybe the most determined Richie's ever heard it. "We won't let that happen," he says, and Richie nods frantically, because they  _ won't.  _ "T-tell me what else you've seen," Eddie prods, his voice still determined. 

Richie can guess what he's asking about, but he really, really doesn't want to talk about it. How do you tell someone how they might die? So instead he says, "Did I tell you about Adult Bev? She can see me for some reason, Eds, and it's her from the future, not like present-day Bev. I asked her—normal Bev, I mean, and she had no idea what I was talking about. But I've talked to Adult Bev, from the future. Or at least I think I have. It all happens while I’m asleep."

"Seriously?" Eddie's staring at him in awe, or maybe disbelief. "What did she say?"

Richie shrugs. "Not much, she's annoyingly cryptic. I talked to her the first time when we slept over at Ben's, and she mentioned Neibolt, but she didn't tell me what happened. Oh, I guess Adult Mike is the new Bill, cause she keeps mentioning asking him stuff. And she gets all freaked out when I ask her questions about what happens, because I guess she's worried about changing the past. What kind of bullshit is  _ that _ ?"

Eddie shifts as he walks, looking down at the ground. "I-I guess I get that."

"You  _ get  _ that? Eddie, what the fuck?" Richie tugs at his sleeve impatiently. "In her past, you and Stan die! Why the fuck would she want that to stay the same?"

"Changing the past can be dangerous," Eddie says pointedly. "Like in  _ Back to the Future _ , where that guy almost poofed himself out of existence."

"That is a  _ movie,  _ Spaghetti, and besides, the only dude who died in that movie got  _ saved _ ! By  _ time travel _ !" 

"Don't call me that," says Eddie. "And besides, what if Bev tells you everything that we did so we don't do that anymore, and then something worse happens? What if we  _ all  _ died? Or our families died? What if we accidentally destroyed the whole town or something? I don't think Adult Bev wants me and Stan to stay dead, I think she's just worried about things getting worse."

Irritated, Richie kicks a rock in the road. "That's what she was saying, I guess," he mutters grouchily. "She almost had a fucking aneurysm cause I guess the clown didn't grab me when she did it, I swear to fucking god… It still seems like total bullshit to me."

"Wait, wait, what did you say about the clown grabbing you?" Eddie stops in the middle of the road, whirling towards him with wild eyes.

Richie shrugs again, suddenly hyper-aware of the bruises on his shoulders. They're not too bad, definitely not as bad as the injuries Ben and Eddie have, but it kind of hurts worse than any bruise Richie has ever had. Worse, even, than Bill's fist to his face. "Adult Bev got all weird when I said she saved me from the clown?" he says. "She said she saved me  _ and  _ Bill, and the clown didn't grab us or whatever. I dunno. What does it matter? That's like such a tiny detail."

" _ Tiny detail _ ? Richie, you almost got eaten!"

"But I  _ didn't _ . And we  _ all _ almost got eaten, anyway, who cares?"

"Richie, I'm just saying, I can see why Adult Bev was worried. I mean, we all survived the first time, right, you saw that? So whatever we did—whatever we  _ do,  _ I guess, this is confusing as shit—we must've done  _ something _ right. Aside from, you know, actually getting rid of the clown."

"Who cares about killing the stupid fucking clown?" says Richie angrily, shoving his hands in his pocket. "When we come back in twenty-seven years to kill the clown, people  _ actually  _ die. If that what it takes to kill this thing, then why even fucking  _ bother _ ? It's not worth it! I don't understand why Big Bill can't fucking see that, that none of this is worth it if we don't all make it out." He kicks the ground again, the bruise on his cheek stinging. 

Eddie's staring sideways at him, his casted arm still held close to his side, and Richie doesn't look at him. He doesn't want to cry. He doesn't want to cry, but he suspects that might be a little impossible when Eddie's next question is, "How does it happen?"

Richie kicks another rock. "How does  _ what  _ happen?"

"Richie, c'mon, you know what I mean," he says tiredly. They both wordlessly walk past the corner of Neibolt Street, taking the long way back to Eddie's; neither of them want to go past that house. 

Richie clenches his fists in his pockets and tries not to scream out loud—that's really what he wants to do. He says in a tight voice, "I guess you… save me somehow or something. I dunno. I, like, fall on the ground and you lean over to check on me… and it stabs you. The clown thingy stabs you."

Eddie winces noticeably, which makes Richie wince, too. He shouldn't have told him, he fucking hates talking about it. "That's what you get for saving me, I guess," he adds, shoving his glasses up on his nose and putting on a stupid goofy voice. "Note to self, Eds: let the Trashmouth go, save yourself!"

"Shut  _ up,  _ Richie," Eddie snaps, elbowing him pointedly. "Beep fucking beep, okay?"

Richie shuts up, looking down at his shoes. They walk in silence for a few minutes, their shoes making rhythmic sounds on the pavement, until Richie hears a sniffling sound from Eddie's direction. Guilt washes over him immediately, and he says, "Eds, listen, it's not going to happen, okay? I'm not gonna let it happen to you  _ or  _ Stan. I-I'm gonna keep you both safe."

"You don't need to die in the process, okay?" Eddie's voice is furious and stuffy, like he has a cold or is talking through tears. "The only way we do this is if  _ all _ of us survive. All seven of us. That's it. Losers stick together."

Richie scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk and says, "Okay," because yeah, what else is there to say? He doesn't want to die, and he doesn't want his friends to die,  _ any  _ of them, and there's no arguing with Eddie when his voice goes all stern like that. "Okay," he says. "All of us make it out. If all of us even hang out again."

Eddie's face shifts at that, grows a little sadder, but he nods. If Richie had to guess, he'd say Eddie definitely misses them all as much as he does; he and Eds and Bill and Stan have never had a fight this bad, and he doesn't think any of them know the outcome. He thinks they'll all hang out again someday, based on everything Adult Bev has said, but who knows? Maybe not. Maybe this will be forever.

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Eddie says as they enter his neighborhood, his voice a little more normal. "We all come back as adults to fight the clown again, except for Stan, because he… dies." Eddie flinches mid-sentence, but keeps going. "Mike probably knows a lot more than us somehow, Adult Bev can somehow see you through time and your dreams—"

"Don't forget the part where she's engaged," says Richie, and motions to his hand to indicate a big diamond. 

Eddie pauses, his eyebrows raising with interest. "Really? To who?"

"I dunno, but I'm assuming Bill. She has a huge-ass dog, too."

Eddie waves a hand frantically in the air. "Forget that. So we all end up in some cave—"

"Holding hands and chanting weird shit," Richie supplies. 

"Does that  _ matter _ ?"

"I think so, I saw whatever the hell that was and it ended up everybody running off cause a giant balloon exploded."

"Whatever,  _ anyways _ ." Eddie takes a deep, whistley breath like he's gonna start wheezing. "I die," he says, his voice too soft, and Richie flinches with him that time. "I-is that all?"

"Don't forget Stan's severed spider head trying to eat me," Richie adds helpfully. 

" _ No,  _ that's not what I meant, I meant, like…" Eddie motions frustratedly. "What happens after I die? Do you kill the clown? Do you get out?"

Richie immediately remembers them leaving Eddie alone down there, and oh  _ no  _ fucking way is he telling Eddie that. Not on his life. "I guess so, if Adult Bev lived through that shit," he says. "Unless I'm talking to her ghost or whatever. She says it's 2017, and twenty-seven years from now is 2016."

" _ How  _ do you defeat it? What do you do, cause if a fence post through the fucking brain didn't work, I'm pretty sure it'll have to be something special."

"I don't know that part," Richie says, because he doesn't. All he really knows is some of the before and aftermath. He'd never really thought to try and figure that part out, he'd been so focused on trying to keep it from happening at all. 

They're at Eddie's house by now, on Eddie's front lawn, but Eddie's not going in. He turns to face Richie and says, "We need to figure that out. In case we can't avoid this shit. If we're ever in this situation again…" He grimaces a little at that, but keeps going. "We need to figure out how to stop it before anything happens to us."

"I guess you're right," Richie says, sneaking glances at the house behind Eddie. He wants desperately to come in, to keep talking, it's only been a few days but it feels like months. But he knows there's no way, Mrs. K will flip her shit if she finds out. 

" _ Obviously _ I am," says Eddie, shoving lightly at Richie's shoulder, and Richie can't squash the grin that follows.  _ Missed you, Spaghetti Man,  _ he thinks, and is relieved to see Eddie smiling a little, too. "You should call me," he adds, "right away, the next time you have the dreams. So you won't forget anything and can give me all the details."

"You want me to call you in the  _ middle of the night _ , Eddie Spaghetti?" Richie asks, batting his eyelashes dramatically before he can think about it too hard. "What about sweet Mrs. K?"

"She takes a million sleeping pills. And anyway, phone cord's long. I'll pull it in my room and answer before she hears," Eddie says. "And don't call me that."

"Y'know you love it," Richie says, pretending his neck isn't growing hot with the knowledge of what he just finished doing, mentally telling himself to fucking  _ stop _ . He's got one eye on the house, still, but he looks back at Eddie, and suddenly the bright white empty space on his cast is unavoidable. "Hey, Eds, lemme sign that for you," he says, poking the cast with one finger.

Eddie's eyes brighten for just a minute, and then the brightness is gone so quick that it's unnoticeable it was ever there. "My mom'll see," he says sadly, "she'll know I've been out."

Richie swallows hard, half hating Mrs. K and her insane fucking rules. Definitely hating the huge empty space on Eddie's cast that should be covered in signatures; when Bill broke his wrist in the fourth grade, the three of them (and Georgie) wrote and drew all over it. "How long you under lockdown, Eds-o?" he says, instead of protesting more.

"Maybe forever," says Eddie grimly. "She's  _ really _ upset. The only reason I'm out right now is cause she sleeps like a log, even without sleeping pills. I-I thought it might've been a good idea to stay home at first… because of the clown… but I miss everyone." He chews on his lower lip sheepishly, looking at the ground.

It's so identical to the way Richie's been feeling that he can't help but be sympathetic, can't help but blurt, "I'm sorry I fucked up the group." Looking at Eddie's face, at the cast on his arm, at the fear and sadness under the surface, he wants to say  _ I'm sorry _ for everything.  _ I'm sorry about your arm, I'm sorry you die saving me, I'm sorry I told you about it, I'm sorry I leave you alone down there, I'm sorry I feel the way I do about you…  _

"If we're all still friends thirty years from now," Eddie says with a shrug, "this fight can't be the end of it all, right?"

Richie feels himself grinning again, and he bites the inside of his lip to keep from all-out beaming right in front of Eddie. "I dunno, Dr. K," he says in his British Guy Voice, "I'm not sure the ol' chap has any sympathy left for poor…"

"Knock it off, you know the British guy drives me nuts," Eddie says, but he's smiling a little, too. He jerks forward suddenly and hugs Richie hard, so brief Richie almost thinks he’s imagined it, except for the cast banging the shit out of his elbow. Eddie grips him in a tight embrace and then he lets go, something in his eyes that Richie can’t read all over again. "I've gotta get inside," he says reluctantly. "But call me if you see anything else, okay? I'm serious about that. If you can't get through Mom, call me at night, soon as you have them."

"Three a.m. work for you?" Richie calls after Eddie as he turns and runs up the walkway, and Eddie wordlessly flips him off behind his back before the door shuts behind him. 

Somehow,  _ somehow _ , Richie actually feels a little lighter when he walks home. It beyond sucked to have to tell Eddie how he might die someday, to have to explain all the crazy shit he's seen, but it  _ does _ feel a lot more relieving to have actually told someone about what's been going on, to have someone else know. To have reconciled with Eddie, at least, and know he has him if no one else. He still misses his friends—he still flinches when he passes Bill's house, and runs away like Bill is watching him out the window and laughing or something—but it's nice to know he isn't completely alone. That he has Eddie still, if no one else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on tumblr at @how-i-met-your-mulder; hit me up for halfway nonsensical clown movie rambling!


	6. Chapter 6

Of course, in consideration of having Eddie back, Richie hadn't remembered that Eddie's still grounded, and Mrs. K is stubborner than a guard at Alcatraz. He doesn't see or hear from Eddie for the next week or so, which means he basically has nothing to do. He doesn't have any dreams or clown sightings, either, which is definitely a good thing—he relishes the extra sleep—but it also means he has no good excuse to call Eddie. It's about the longest stretch he's gone without having the dreams since school let out, and it's starting to freak him out, as much as he welcomes the break. He's wondering if there's a  _ reason  _ he's not seeing anything, if something's changed what's going to happen—and maybe he should be happy about this, but it actually makes him nervous, cause what if Eddie and Adult Bev are right? 

But whatever the case, it's impossible to tell, because Richie's not having the dreams and not talking to Adult Bev, so he doesn't call Eddie. Which means he literally has no one to talk to. He considers trying to meet up with Stan more than once—out of all his friends besides Eddie, Stan is probably the least likely to be pissed—but then Richie remembers the way he snapped at Stan on the bike ride home after the fight, and vetoes that idea. He definitely doesn't want to piss Stan off more. 

Richie does run into Ben and Bev several days later, completely by accident. He's still bored as shit and decides to go fuck around at the dam for a little while, because why not? But he runs into Ben and Bev down there, their ankles in the pool of water their lame little dam created, Ben sitting by a stack of impressively huge books and Bev smoking lazily. The sight makes him nervous for some reason—what if they're still pissed at him, Bev definitely seemed like she still might be after the fight—and he starts to leave, but Ben sees him first and says, "Hi, Richie," sounding just as nervous but also kind of genuinely sincere. And knowing Ben, he probably means it. Bev offers a small wave and smile that probably means she doesn't want him to fuck off. 

So Richie goes and sits down beside Ben. "Hey, Benners, Bevvers," he says in the brightest voice he can muster. "How goes it? Benjamin, how's your record  _ second  _ stomach wound of the summer?"

"It's okay," Ben says, a little self-consciously. "I told my mom we ran into a dog that scratched me. She's been a little on edge about me going outside since then, but she bought it."

"Absolute genius, young man," Richie says in his best Snooty Professor Voice, and sees Bev rolling her eyes good-naturedly on the other side of Ben. He's suddenly self-conscious all over again, wondering if she  _ is  _ pissed at him—and hey, she'd have a right to be, he was pretty pissed at her. He looks away and grabs one of Ben's books instead, flipping through it. "More  _ Ten Morbidest Things That Have Happened In Derry, _ Haystack?"

"No, that's just… reading for fun," Ben says sheepishly. "I don't really want to read about Derry history anymore."

"Can't blame you there, New Kid," Bev says, exhaling smoke tiredly and jostling Ben's shoulder playfully. She's got circles under her eyes, like she hasn't been sleeping either; Richie keeps flipping through Ben's book and resists the urge to ask if she's been having weird dreams all over again. 

"So, have you, uh…" Ben asks awkwardly. "Have you talked to anyone since… the fight?"

"Just Eddie, a few days ago," Richie says, setting down the book and picking up another one. 

"How's he doing?" Bev asks with interest. 

"He seems good. Got his arm in a giant-ass cast." Richie gestures to indicate the size of the cast. "What about you guys?"

Ben shrugs. "Um, not really. Mom signed me up for a summer school class to, uh, get caught up before eighth grade. So I've kind of been hanging out there." Richie almost makes a nerd joke, but he can't really bring himself to; he's guessing it wasn't entirely Mrs. Hanscom's idea, which kind of makes it  _ his _ fault. Ben's spending his summer inside the brick prison for kids because he was an asshole.

"I've hung out with Bill a little bit," says Bev, swinging her feet in the water and flicking ashes off in the grass.

Richie pretends he doesn't see Ben's neck getting pinker, pretends he doesn't want to know how Bill is doing or if he's mentioned him at all. Ben does it for him, amicable as ever, the little bastard: "H-how's he doing?"

"He's okay," Bev says, and it feels like she purposefully isn't looking at Richie, either. "I'm glad to hear Eddie's doing good. I was worried about him."

Richie begins peeling off his shoes to stick his own feet in the water; they're mad sweaty, anyway. "Yeah, well, his mom's got him locked up like he's in Shawshank. Anyone want to stage a rescue mission? I'm thinking we tunnel him out, fake his death, and hide him in the clubhouse."

"Are  _ you  _ doing okay, Richie?" 

He's so shocked by the question it takes him a minute to answer. He looks over and sees Bev looking at him with genuine concern. Yeah, okay, she's clearly not as pissed as Big Bill. "Yeah, thanks to you and your spearing skills," he says. "My shoulders fucking hurt for like a week, that clown has a vice grip, but you did save me from being a Richie-kebab. And made a… clown-kebab instead."

"Nice visuals," Bev says mildly, lying back against the grass, her hip against Ben's. She looks up at them overtop of her sunglasses. "You should try talking to Bill." 

Richie adjusts his glasses, looking away. "I don't think Bill wants to talk to me."

"I think you should, anyway," says Bev. "We need to figure this all out."

Richie remembers what Adult Bev had said about the fight, her reassurances that they all made up, and part of him wants to do it. He does miss Bill, as much as he misses the rest of them. But he keeps coming back to the moment of Bill punching him in the face. It's stupid, and he was an ass, top, and with everything he knows about the dreams now, it should be easy to make up with Bill, but it isn't. He pokes a finger into the bare dirt and says instead of a  _ Yes  _ or  _ No _ , "I gotta go." He pulls his feet out of the water and shoves them back into his socks without bothering to dry them off. " _ Excellent _ to see you both, though," he adds in his High Society Voice. "Really, really. Charmed, I'm sure."

Bev shrugs and pulls her sunglasses back up. "It's good to see you, too," Ben says, and Richie can only assume he really means it. Richie leans over and tousles his hair before making his way back up the bank, his wet feet sticking awkwardly in his socks. A strong part of him wants to stay, wants to do anything but slog around by himself, but he really doesn't want to hear all about how he needs to apologize to Bill. Doesn't want to feel guilty as shit about fucking up the group and leaving everyone all alone. 

He goes down to the quarry to swim by himself; he'd go to the arcade but he's still paranoid about running into someone who saw what happened with Bowers. At least the quarry is empty. It's always been  _ their  _ spot, a Losers spot to avoid the dickwads (and germs, Eddie insists) at the public pool. Richie figured it'd be empty if only because he assumes none of the others want to run into him either.

\---

It's been two weeks since the fight and a week and a half since Richie's talk with Eddie when the phone rings at eleven o'clock at night. It's a work night, so his parents are asleep, but he and his sister are watching movies on TV, and his sister shoots him a biting look when the phone rings. So Richie about breaks his neck trying to get to the phone before his parents wake up. "Tozier residence," he gasps out into the phone, out of breath and leaning against the little table. 

"That's how you answer the phone at eleven o'clock at night? Isn't everyone asleep?" Eddie says skeptically on the other end.

"Why, hello, Eddie Spaghetti," Richie drawls, shoving the phone into the crook of his shoulder and sitting down. "Nah, just my parents. What's up?"

"I—hadn't heard from you," Eddie says uncertainly on the other end. "Have you had the dream again?"

"Afraid not, m'boy! I'm afraid not."

"Which Voice even  _ is _ that? It sounds like three Voices on top of each other," says Eddie, the slightest hint of laughter in his voice. 

Richie hides a smirky grin behind one hand (he isn't entirely sure himself) and says, "I'm  _ workshopping  _ it, okay? And no, I haven't had the dream or seen anything weird since we talked. Sorry to disappoint, Dr. K."

"That's kind of weird. You said it was happening like every night, right?"

"I dunno about every night, but it was pretty frequent, I guess. Who knows? It's kind of nice not to be pissing myself every night, I gotta say," says Richie, shoving his glasses up on his nose. 

"Yeah, yeah, definitely," Eddie says quickly. "That sounds a hell of a lot better." There's a lengthy pause on the other end before he speaks again. "I didn't… know the dreams freaked you out that bad."

"Nah, Eds, it's the best part of my night, watching my best friends die," Richie drawls sarcastically, resting his forehead on his knees. Suddenly angry at the idea that the dreams  _ wouldn't _ upset him, what the fuck kinda thinking is that? 

He can still hear the faint sounds of the monster movie from the other room, and the screams of the monster are kinda unsettling here in the dark. Maybe he should find a new summer night activity. "Besides," he adds pointedly, "I can't exactly look for new details if I'm not  _ having  _ the fucking dreams."

"R-right," Eddie says. "You have any idea why they're gone?"

"Inconvenience?" Richie throws a hand up that Eddie obviously can't see. "The dreams figured out that I needed to have them, so they fucked off? Or maybe… maybe it's all over now." His shoulders slump, his eyes shutting behind his glasses. "Maybe we did something that ended it, forget what Adult Bev said, and… and none of it's going to happen now."

"I don't think that's it," Eddie says on the other end. "I'm not having the dreams from the future or anything like that, but… I don't think so." There's something thick in his voice, something too serious that only makes sense when Eddie says what he says next: "Rich, I-I saw the clown again."

Richie sits up straighter, his spine pressing against the phone table. "When?" he demands. "What happened?"

"Earlier today," Eddie says in a small voice. "In the basement of Keene's. I… I don't wanna talk about it."

Richie's grip is suddenly too tight around the receiver, his palm slick with sweat. "Yeah, I saw it last week," he mutters. "Fucking psycho. Hovering around on the Paul Bunyan statue or whatever. Motherfucking clown."

"Motherfucking clown," Eddie echoes on the other end. "I wish it  _ was _ over, I can't fucking stand being haunted by this stupid fucking clown. I'm fucking sick of this horror movie bullshit."

"I'll second that," says Richie. "To the moon and goddamn back."

"Exactly," Eddie says, and Richie smiles absently, adjusting the phone against his ear. "Look," Eddie adds too quickly, his voice almost nervous, "I know I said just call if you had the dreams, but since they're clearly not happening, you should drop by, okay? It is  _ so  _ fucking boring here. All my mom watches is game shows, she never wants to watch anything good. I've read every comic like twenty times, there's nothing interesting here, and she never lets me leave except to go to the stupid pharmacy."

"Aw, Eds, do ya miss me?" Richie says sweetly. 

"Seriously, dipshit, come by at some point if you can. I haven't seen anyone in like a week, I'm going stir crazy. I think I'm starting to hear voices."

"Don't worry, Spaghetti, I'll save you from the loony bin," Richie says generously. "I guess I'll have to climb in your window. Gotta show up your mad burglar skills somehow." 

"You're gonna break your fucking neck, you know, you'd be better off ringing the damn doorbell."

"Can't tarnish my reputation with Mrs. K, Eds. She's finally starting to love me back." Richie bats his eyelashes before he remembers that Eddie can't see him. 

"Just like… let me know that you're here before you climb up, okay? I don't wanna have like ten heart attacks when you knock on my window, thinking you're the stupid clown."

"Affirmative-o, Eds-o," Richie says in his Robot Voice—Eddie says it's one of his better ones. "I'll drop by soon."

"Okay," Eddie says, sounding relieved. "Thanks, Rich."

"Course," Richie says without even thinking, twisting the swirly cord around one wrist. "Anything for you, Eds. I'm plotting a rescue mission involving a rope ladder and a dirt tunnel."

"Okay, Richie. Sure," Eddie says. "Look, call if you have the dreams again, okay? Seriously. I wanna figure this out."

"You'll be my first call," Richie says with a yawn, untangling the phone cord. "I'll bring over some Twinkies and some sleeping pills when I come so you can get your mom nappin' and we can have some actual fun."

"Don't bring  _ either _ of those, dumbass, I'm not drugging my mom and Twinkies are disgusting," Eddie says, although Richie can tell he's laughing on the other end. "See ya, okay?"

"See ya," says Richie, and he hangs up the phone. He sits in the hall for a few minutes more, phone receiver in his lap, hand smushed over his face so if his sister comes looking for him she won't see him grinning like an idiot. 

\---

Stan's bar mitzvah is a couple days later, and Richie's mom insists that they need to go. Richie actually agrees with her, wholeheartedly; he swore he'd go like a month ago, and you can't break spit swears, even when the guy you're swearing to cusses you out for trying to spit swear in the first place. And besides, it's Stan's  _ birthday.  _ What kind of asshole would he be if he didn't show up for Stan's birthday? 

(He might be a little bit of an asshole, because he forgets to get Stan a present until the morning of, so he grabs his copy of  _ Hatchet _ and writes,  _ To Stan the Man, A how-to on how to be an axe murderer. Love, Trashmouth.  _ He finds a Polaroid at the back of his closet, of all of them at Stan's eighth birthday wearing awful pointy party hats. That was the year that Richie decided to try and catch Stan a bird for his birthday and got in trouble for wasting an entire loaf of bread to try and do it. He sticks the Polaroid in the front of the book and decides that'll work okay.)

It turns out he may not be a huge asshole after all, because he’s the only one who shows up to Stan’s bar mitzvah. It’s a little expected for the others, he guesses—Eddie’s still super grounded, Bev’s dad is a weirdo, and he’s not sure Ben, Bev, or Mike really knew when it even was. But it feels strange and unacceptable that he’s the only one there, that none of the rest of them could come. That  _ Bill  _ couldn’t come—Bill, who’s been Stan’s friend for as long as the rest of them. Bill, the gap-toothed kid in the picture Richie stuck in the front of the book. (Richie remembers that, in third grade he’d lost both front teeth at the same time and then knocked out another baby tooth on Field Day when a fifth grader decided that baseball was a tackle sport.) It’s been the four of them as long as Richie can remember, and they’ve always showed up for each other. He and Eddie and Stan all showed up to Georgie’s funeral, choked by too-tight neckties, exchanging awkward and grief-stricken looks over the refreshment table, sitting in the pantry with Bill when he broke down. Richie had thought it was an unspoken rule that they turn up for the important shit. But he’s the only Loser actually at the bar miztvah. 

It’s a lot better than Richie expects—he figured the ceremony would be as boring as any other religious service, but Stan caps it all off with a speech about how he’ll always be a Loser and cusses, straight into the microphone like the secret badass Richie’s always kinda suspected he is. He’s probably the only one amused, but he still stands right up and claps approvingly in the silent room before his mom pulls him back down. 

There’s a reception at the Uris’s house afterwards, which Richie thinks is a little sad in terms of birthday parties that nobody fucking shows up to, so he obviously has to go. He finds Stan in the kitchen while his mother is chatting with Mrs. Uris and throws a wayward arm around his shoulders. “Stan the Man!” he says. “That is absolutely the most badass you have ever been. Where the fuck has  _ that _ guy been hiding all this time? You should break out Fun Stan more often!"

“Beep beep, Richie,” says Stan, but he’s smiling a little. “Thanks for coming.”

“How could I miss it?” says Richie, which is probably a little passive-aggressive towards the others and Bill specifically, but who cares, it’s not like they can  _ hear _ him. He shoves the copy of Hatchet at Stan and adds, “Happy dick-chopping day, Stanley.”

Stan rolls his eyes and adds another  _ Beep, beep  _ for good measure, but takes the book anyway and flips through it. “Isn’t this that book we read before the sixth grade? Summer reading?" 

“Yep. I’ve been so bored I’ve had time for lame shit like reading, and it turns out that this book is  _ still  _ fucking awesome,” Richie says proudly. “Thought you might like to relive the memories.”

“Of yours and Eddie’s shitty survival skills? Yeah, that’s that's still pretty amusing,” says Stan, smirking a little. He opens it to the front page, rolls his eyes (presumably at the inscription), and then pulls out the Polaroid. He immediately looks wistful, as moony as Richie probably had when he found the thing. “That was a good birthday,” he adds softly. "You were pretty awful at bird-catching."

Richie clasps a dramatic hand to his chest. "Stancakes, you wound me. You absolutely wound me."

They end up decked out on Stan's lumpy couch with cans of Orange Crush, competing for who's been the most bored since the fight and avoiding the subject of Bill delicately. Stan's apparently hung out with Ben a couple times, alone  _ and _ with Beverly, has seen Mike a bunch on deliveries, and has run into Bill exactly once. "You've got me beat," Richie says, maybe a little jealpus. "I've seen Ben and Bev once, but no signs of Mike _ or _ Big Bill." He doesn't want to linger over the fact that Bill probably still wants to punch his lights out. "I've talked to Eddie some, too, mostly on the phone," he adds. "Mrs. K has gone full prison warden. I wouldn't be surprised if we don't see Eds outside before Christmas."

"Poor Eddie," Stan says solemnly, flipping absently through the TV guide. "I kind of hate his mom sometimes, don't you?"

Another time, Richie might've made a joke about Eddie's mom being his one true love, but now he just says, "Yeah," because he's still kinda picturing Mrs. K yanking Eddie around even after he was  _ hurt _ . In the moment, her accusations had seemed all too accurate, but now it just seems wrong, to treat him like that when he was hurt and scared.

"I might be in the same boat for a while," Stan adds, a little annoyed, taking another swig of soda. "My dad seemed pretty fucking pissed about the whole 'fuck in a synagogue' thing. He'll probably chew me out as soon as everyone is gone."

"I don't know why he would be pissed, considering that it's the  _ most badass thing you've ever done _ ."

Stan doesn't say anything to that, so they fall into a comfortable silence that they've shared about a million times. But Richie's sort of flashed back to the synagogue and Stan's speech, turning Stan's words over and over in his mind, and after a few minutes he blurts, "D'you think we'll ever all… you know, hang out again? Be the Losers again?" 

It feels like a childish question, especially since yeah, he's kinda part of the reason they all split up, and Richie's practically sweating balls waiting for Stan's answer, until Stan finally says, "I hope so." He sounds just as anxious and hopeful as Ben did down at the dam. "I mean… I wanna think that what we have is stronger than this."

Richie remembers all of them together as adults, years from now, hands linked in the cave; Stan hadn't been there, but Richie knows he will be when it happens for real. He'll  _ have  _ to be, because he and Eddie are gonna save him. "Yeah, I think you're right," he says. "Actually, I think you were right in the clubhouse before. I think we're all gonna keep hanging out, even as adults."

"Richie, I said that most adults probably  _ don't  _ hang out with their middle school friends," says Stan. 

"Yeah, but we're  _ Losers _ , remember?" Richie pokes Stanley in the side. "You think we're gonna make any better friends than this?" 

"Maybe not  _ you, _ " Stan says, his voice bone dry.

Richie busts out laughing. "Stan the Man gets off a good one!" he says. "You really  _ are  _ a man now."

"Shut up, Richie," Stan says again, but he looks like he might be holding back a smile. Richie jostles his shoulder against Stan's. The soda in his hand jostles too, sloshing over the side of the hole in the top, but the soda miraculously doesn't spill, so Stan keeps his glare to a minimum. They turn on the TV and flip channels, silently wrestling over the remote until Richie's mom comes to take him home. 

\---

Later, Richie sneaks over to Eddie's house like he did the other day. He tells Eddie about Stan's bar mitzvah, and Eddie makes a very quiet call to Stan apologizing about a million times for not being there while Richie tries to grab the phone away and whisper-yells into the receiver that he's the MVP of the group for actually showing. (Eddie also tells Richie he's gonna get them caught about a million times, but Richie knows that Mrs. K takes horse-style sleeping pills and does not wake up very easy. He's slept over at Eddie's enough to know that.)

After Eddie hangs up, they read the new  _ Spiderman _ that Richie picked up yesterday. Eddie grabs it initially, but Richie starts whining about how he hasn't read it yet, either, until Eddie heaves a sigh and tugs Richie down beside him so they can both read it. Richie grabs the comic away and holds it up because Eddie's cast seems to make things more awkward, and so they read it together, even though Richie absorbs about zero percent of it, as per usual. But it's only kinda because of Eddie this time. He keeps thinking about hanging out with Stan, about what he'd said about the Losers, about what Richie had said about them all hanging out together as adults. It's not like that  _ won't  _ happen for Stan—he  _ must've  _ still hung out with them before he died—but it still seems shitty, seems  _ sad, _ that Stan isn't with them in the cave, even considering everything that happens in the stupid cave. He refuses to let that happen, let Stan not be there, but he still isn't sure  _ how  _ to do it. Eds seems easy enough—he  _ knows _ , for one thing, and all Richie will really have to do is shove him out of the way when the time comes—but what about Stan? 

"Hey, Eds?" Richie asks, dropping the comic book on his stomach. 

"Yeah?" Eddie answers, shifting next to Richie, his cast poking Richie's arm. 

"Do you think we should, ya know…" Richie swallows, adjusting his glasses. "Tell Stan about what happens to him?"

Eddie's so quiet that Richie flips onto his stomach just so he can see what Eddie's thinking. His face is all pinched like he's worried, and he says, "Oh… I don't know," in a tight voice. 

"I don't want anything to happen to Stan," Richie says fiercely. "No fuckin' way. And if he knows, maybe it won't happen. But… I don't wanna freak him out." He thinks of Stan's voice outside Bill's house, how he sounded like he was about to cry. "I-I don't wanna freak him out," he repeats. 

"No, me neither," Eddie says. 

Richie cups his chin in his hands and shoots a pointed look at Eddie, but he can't see anything in his face. He adds, "You… you got told, about… you know."

"Yeah, I know," says Eds in a strangled voice. 

Richie chews his lower lip. "D'you… wish you hadn't been told?" 

Eddie's forehead scrunches, and he drapes an arm over his face. "Maybe… maybe a little sometimes," he says quietly. "I mean, I'm glad I know so I can  _ stop  _ it, and I don't want you to have to go through this alone, but… it kinda sucks knowing how you're supposed to die."

Richie pictures a spike through Eddie's chest, blood dripping from his lips, before he can stop himself and winces. "Yeah," he mutters, putting his face down in Eddie's rug. 

"Maybe we should wait to tell Stan," Eddie says, tugging at Richie's sleeve with his good hand. "You know, til we know more, or have some idea of what's gonna happen next with the clown."

"Yeah," Richie says into the rug. It tastes mustier than he would've expected for  _ Eddie Kaspbrak's  _ room—maybe he can't use his hand vacuum with a broken arm. "Yeah, makes sense."

Eddie tugs at his sleeve again, so Richie lifts his head. "Have you had any more of the dreams?" he asks seriously. 

"Nope. Freaky nightmares still AWOL," says Richie. 

Eddie makes an  _ mmm _ sound and pulls the crumpled comic out from under Richie's chest where he'd turned over on it. "You bend your own comics, too, you fucking animal," he mutters, and Richie sticks his tongue out. "Do you think they'll ever come back?" he adds, a little reluctantly.

Richie knows he’s not talking about comics, and he definitely doesn’t know how to answer. He kind of hopes so and hopes not all at once. But he just says, "I dunno," instead because he  _ doesn't  _ know, and then he tries to take the comic back and Eddie won’t let go, and they kind of forget about the whole thing. 

\---

The dreams come back three days later, in the form of Adult Bev all over again. Not a huge surprise, but definitely interesting. Richie goes to sleep and sees the same familiar fucking blur of lights behind his eyes, and as they fade out into smudgey circles behind his eyelids, he finds himself in the clubhouse with Adult Bev, the sun shining through the open spaces in the top. Bev’s standing kind of near the ladder, looking around with this wistful look on her face. “I forgot it used to look like this,” she says under her breath. 

“Look like what?” Richie asks, and Adult Bev jumps, looking over at him. Richie can’t help but smirk a little, satisfied.

“Oh, hi, Richie,” Adult Bev says, and smiles at him in that same annoying grown-up way. Richie hopes that Normal Bev never gets all sappy like that. Or maybe it's just towards him, cause she's all adulty and he's still thirteen. What bullshit. “Uh, clean, I guess.”

Richie looks around at the dirt floor and walls, and says, “You and Eddie must have different definitions of clean,” before remembering that  _ her  _ version of Eddie is dead and wincing hard. 

Adult Bev manages to look even more wistful—but okay, yeah, he can forgive her for that, it’s  _ Eddie _ —and says, “Yeah.” She looks back at him, a little seriously this time, and says, “Richie…”

“Look, I dunno if I should even bother to ask you any questions this time, but you should know that we are  _ definitely _ going to figure out what happens, eventually,” Richie says, which is his dumb strategy for simultaneously taunting Adult Bev and trying to get her to reveal more shit. He’s a fucking genius; he can’t wait to tell Eddie about this.

“Richie, look, I’ve called everybody, they’re gonna fly in and we’re gonna figure out what’s going on here… you, actually, Older You—uh, you’re very in favor of figuring this out…” 

“Figuring out  _ what _ ? You already know what happens in the future, what the fuck do  _ you _ need to figure out?” Richie says, but he’s not fully throwing himself into it, because his mind is too lost in trying to picture his adult friends standing around talking about these stupid fucking dreams. So they know someday, or at least they know what Adult Bev has seen. He wonders if Adult Him has told them anything, or if he even remembers these dreams—Richie guesses not, if Adult Him didn’t do anything to stop it—and then his brain falters, stopping over one thing Beverly said. “Wait, did you say  _ flying _ ? Why would they need to fly in?”

Adult Bev blinks, like she’s surprised. “We don’t live near each other,” she says, like that should be obvious. “Ben and I are in Nebraska, Richie, uh,  _ you’re _ out in LA, Bill kind of goes back and forth, but he’s in England right now, and Mike…” 

Richie can’t even linger over the LA part, although that is totally a victory, because his brain’s too busy spinning. Absolutely none of this makes sense, but also, it might make sense, because he’s thinking about what Stan said, about how their parents don’t hang out with their friends from middle school. But how the fuck did they all end up hanging out together if they live all over the fucking world? “W-what about Eddie and Stan, where did they live before…” 

Adult Bev grimaces a little, too, at that one, but she answers anyway. “Eddie was in New York. Stan was in Atlanta.”

Richie’s eyes bug out a little more at that—and yeah, okay, maybe that shouldn’t really surprise him, because Fake Clown Adult Eddie said that they hadn’t left Derry together and they hadn’t seen each other in twenty years, but he had kinda hoped the clown was lying. (It was possible, he had told himself more than once, because Eddie wouldn't say those things and so that meant none of it was real.) 

But unless Adult Bev is fake or lying (and he still thinks it’s all real), then it’s true, then everyone but apparently fucking Ben and Bev never see each other after they leave. It feels un-fucking-real to Richie, but the look in Adult Bev’s eyes pretty much confirm it. He rubs a hand over his forehead and says, “What, s-so nobody actually talked to each other until the fucking  _ clown _ came back?” 

Adult Bev winces, muttering something that sounds like, “Fucking shit,” under her breath. “We didn’t remember, Richie,” she adds, more gently. “You… forget, once you leave Derry, and all of us left except Mike, so we all forgot what happened until Mike called us back.” 

“ _ Motherfucker _ ,” Richie says in a rush, shoving his hand back over his face, because of fucking course that would happen, they all leave and forget everything. How the fuck is he supposed to save Eddie and Stan now, make them all stay in Derry forever? It seems worth it if it means they get to live, but it’s fucking  _ Derry _ , why is anyone gonna stay in Derry unless he says, _ We have to stay in Derry so we remember to save Stan and Eddie? _ They'll think he's nuts. Why would  _ he _ stay in Derry for that matter, it’s a fucking pit, and why would  _ Adult Mike _ have stayed? He said he wants to leave; he wants to go to Florida. 

“We remember  _ now _ ,” Adult Bev adds quickly, like that’s supposed to be any fucking comfort after Adult Stan and Eddie have already died. “We’re all in touch now. We try to meet up when we can."

“How, how…” says Richie, unsure of what he’s even trying to say—probably something about,  _ How are we supposed to stop this now, how are we supposed to save our friends, what am I supposed to tell them _ —but what he comes up with is, “How are you and Bill engaged if he’s in  _ England _ ?”

Adult Bev actually laughs at that, and that really throws Richie off guard. “We’re—I’m not engaged to Bill, Richie. He’s married, actually, he’s in England with his wife while she films a movie.”

Yeah, okay, Richie’s brain is definitely short circuiting now, this is way too much information to get at once, even if it might be helpful to figuring out how to end this shit. “Big Bill married a  _ movie star _ ?” he asks incredulously. “What the actual fuck happened there?” 

Adult Bev groans a little—she really doesn’t wanna give any useful information, does she. Her face is all red like she’s embarrassed to tell him whatever information she’s doling out with a fucking teaspoon. “Yeah, uh, Bill’s actually a pretty successful novelist in the future,” she says. “I think they met when she was cast in one of his book adaptations.”

“Bill’s a novelist?” Aside from Bill winning the short story contest at their school in the fifth grade, Richie doesn’t remember writing ever really coming up with Bill. Weird. “What about the rest of us?” he prods. 

“Mike was the librarian in Derry before he moved out… I’m not sure what he’s doing now,” Adult Bev supplies, a little embarrassed. “Um, Ben’s an architect, and I work in fashion now. You’re a comedian.”

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” Richie blurts. “Are you serious?” When Bev nods, he says, “Holy fucking  _ shit _ ,” and has to resist the urge to throw up a fist Breakfast Club-style, or jump up and down like a dumb little kid. He thinks he’s grinning like a moron because this is literally the only good thing he’s heard about his stupid, stupid future, the only thing he doesn’t want to change. “That’s fucking unreal! Am I famous as shit? Do I have, like, fans and stuff?” 

Adult Bev nods sheepishly, looking way too much like she’s going to laugh. Richie’s too elated to care; he allows himself one overly loud cheer and lets it go. He desperately wants to ask what Eddie and Stan do—he bets it’s something super boring for both of them—but then he remembers that it’s  _ did,  _ not  _ do _ , and he’s deflating a little like a balloon, and he doesn’t wanna bring it up to Adult Bev, who doesn’t have the advantage of running to call Eddie as soon as she wakes up. 

He adds another, “That’s fucking insane, that’s awesome,” just so he doesn’t let Adult Bev on, and leans back against the dirt wall. “So I guess Bill and I are super rich so it’s super easy to fly right?” he adds. He’s only flown once in his life, when they went to visit the Grand Canyon when he was seven; his dad says flying is for rich people, so they  _ never _ fly, not even when they go visit his grandmother down in fucking North Carolina. When he makes a shitload of money, he's gonna fly everywhere, he'll never drive again.

“Something like that,” says Bev with a little smile. “You’re, uh, already here, actually, you flew in about a week ago. We’re just waiting for Mike and Bill, and then we’re going to figure this out. We want to know how to best handle this…”

“Wait, why do you and Benjamin live so close, anyways? How the hell did that happen?” Richie asks. Bev’s face gets all weird, and she reaches down to touch her ring, and  _ oh  _ shit, Richie kinda wants to laugh like crazy. Bill’s not gonna be very happy about this, but Benners will be over the moon.

He changes the subject, mostly to hide the fact that he’s grinning like an idiot. “So what are you guys  _ figuring out _ again? I mean, Eddie and I are trying to fill in the empty pieces on our end, but that makes sense, since we know fuck-all about what happens.”

“W-wait, did you say you and Eddie?” Adult Bev says, hurriedly holding up a hand. 

Richie feels kind of sheepish for a split second before he changes his mind; fuck that, he’s going in blind, why the fuck  _ shouldn’t  _ he have told Eddie? (Aside from Eddie freaking out, because that really sucked and he still feels shitty about that, but now he’s glad he’s got someone else on his side.) “Yeah, I told Eddie,” he says, a little defensively, crossing his arms. “He kind of made me, actually, you know how fucking stubborn he is… We decided  _ we  _ were gonna figure out what happened so we could stop things from happening, but we don’t have much information yet. So it’d be really fucking helpful if you could give me _ literally anything _ to clue me in, Marsh.” 

Adult Bev is looking beyond gobsmacked and also very unhelpful. “T-that’s what we want to figure out, Rich,” she says gingerly. “We still don’t know if it’s safe to tell you what you haven’t already seen…” 

“Bev, come fucking on, you can tell me what we all do for a living but you can’t tell me anything about us fighting this stupid clown?” Richie protests, his voice rising indignantly. 

Bev opens her mouth like she’s actually gonna fucking say something, so of course the dream goes all fuzzy around him and Adult Bev starts fading away. Richie shouts, “Fucking  _ what _ , how the fuck do you do this every goddamn time?” but that doesn’t stop the dream from fading away. He sees a muddled rush of his adult friends, of the cave, of swirling lights and a clown’s mad laughter, and then he’s awake all over again. 

He resists the urge to punch the wall—as much as he wants to, he’ll probably bust his knuckles up, and whatever idiotic higher power keeps cutting off the dreams before he can get anything useful out of them will probably laugh like mad—and just climbs out of bed instead. He grabs his flashlight and heads straight for the phone to call Eddie. 

Eddie answers quickly, his voice rushed like he’s trying to keep his mom from waking up. “Hello?” he says in a half-whisper. 

“Seriously, Eds, stop worrying about your mom. I’m telling you, she sleeps like a log,” Richie says with a wolf grin. It’s a big fucking relief to hear his voice.

“I’m not risking it, it’s only sensible that I don’t risk it,” says Eddie, still whispering, his voice all hissy. “Did you have another dream?”

“Yep. Another chat with the lovely Future Bev, who still hasn’t given me anything useful. I’m telling you, Spaghetti, these dreams cut off every goddamn time it seems like she’s gonna say anything about what happens, it’s driving me fucking nuts.”

“She didn’t tell you anything? So what the fuck did you talk about?” Eddie asks, in more of a normal voice. He sounds as annoyed as Richie feels; Richie makes a mental note to tell Adult Bev that.  _ You’re pissing off Eddie, too, d’ya really want Eddie pissed off at you?  _

“I mean, I guess she gave me something,” he says. “She told me about us as adults. Eds. Eds, Eds, Eds, I’m a fucking  _ comedian,  _ can you fucking believe it? She says I have fans and everything, I’m actually a fucking comedian!” He laughs like a maniac. “I guess Big Bill is famous too, he’s a novelist, what the fuck? And Bev does fashion something or other, and Ben’s an architect or something, and Mike’s a librarian, that’s all nerd shit, but Trashmouth Tozier is a fucking  _ comedian _ !”

“Richie, shut up, you’re gonna wake your parents,” Eddie whispers under the sounds of Richie’s wild laughter. He can’t stop cracking up until he hears Eddie on the other end ask, “What about me?” And then he just feels like the biggest fucking jerk in the world. He wants to shrivel up and crawl right under the rug. 

“You live in New York,” he says, cause he knows that. “You’ve probably gotten super boring, of course, and pale in comparison to your more awesomer friends.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie snaps, but he sounds a little relieved even under that, like maybe he was expecting Richie to give him nothing. It makes Richie feel even worse. And then he remembers that he did find out something useful tonight, something he can give Eddie besides their various careers. 

“I actually did get something useful,” he says. “None of us live in the same place. I live in LA, and Stan lives—”  _ Lived _ , he thinks, and winces. “—in Atlanta, and Bill is in England, I guess? And Mike stayed in Derry or whatever, and Ben and Bev somehow ended up in Nebraska together—oh yeah, Ben and Bev are engaged, holy shit, right?” 

“Richie, whoa, jeez, slow the fuck down,” Eddie says frantically. “So… so I live in New York and you live in Los Angeles? On different coasts?” 

The breath kind of goes out of Richie, and he looks down at the rug. “Yeah.” He can’t get anything from Eddie’s voice; he can’t tell how he feels about that. 

Eddie sounds kinda wobbly when he comes back; processing, Richie tells himself. He’s just processing. No way he’s upset about them living on opposite sides of the country; why should he be any more upset about that than the rest of them living so far apart? “And… all the rest of us… did you say Ben and Bev are  _ engaged _ ?” he says incredulously. 

“Yeah. Well, she didn’t say it for sure, but I asked why they were the only ones who lived near each other, and she started twisting her ring all around again. How is she  _ not  _ engaged to Bill, right?”

“That actually makes a lot of sense, Rich,” Eddie says in that stupid  _ I'm-so-wise  _ voice. “They hang out together a lot. They were kinda friends before we started hanging out. Ben says she was the only one to sign his yearbook.”

“That’s like the day before we all started hanging out, Eds, yearbooks were the last day of school,” says Richie. But he remembers, suddenly, how Ben and Bev were hanging out at the dam, and yeah, okay, it might make a little sense. Sure. He'll bite. He hopes they're very happy together and much less gross than Bill and Bev are.

“Wait-wait-wait, I thought you said this stuff was  _ useful _ ," Eddie says hurriedly. "How does that help us… not die?"

Richie shuts his eyes a little, shoving the phone between his ear and shoulder. "Bev says we all forget each other," he says, even though he really doesn't wanna say it. "After we leave Derry. We all forget everything that happened here. Mike stays, and he remembers, and he calls us back for clown killing, but we don't remember til then."

Eddie's silent on the other end. Richie takes his glasses off and tries clumsily to clean them with the tail of his shirt, but he gives up and drops them on the ground. He doesn't want to think about that, the forgetting part. 

"W-what does that even mean?" Eddie says finally, and his voice sounds almost the same as it did when Richie said where they lived. "We forget the clown? We forget… each _other_? How would that even _work_?"

"I don't fucking know," says Richie. "Bev just said we forget. That's all."

"What the  _ fuck, _ " says Eddie, and he sounds angry now, like someone's done this to them on person. ( _ Duh,  _ Richie thinks; something obviously has, and it's something that should definitely be a Bev-kebab by now.) 

"I don't know how we're supposed to… do this if we don't remember," Richie says, suddenly furious too. "How are we supposed to stop it if we don't even know it's going to happen?"

"M-maybe we won't forget," Eddie says. "Or maybe we'll be able to end things now, before we ever get a chance to forget…"

"A lot of things can happen in twenty-seven years, Eds," he says, and he buries his face in the crook of his elbow. It's making more sense, the more he thinks about it; twenty-seven years is double the time he's been alive. He'll have to live through a whole other life, and then  _ another _ one, before he even  _ gets _ to the time of the visions. Maybe it was stupid to have ever thought that things wouldn't change. Obviously Stan was right.

"We're still gonna figure this out, Rich, we're not going to let this happen," says Eddie. "Maybe… if you talk to Adult Bev again, at least try to get her to tell you  _ how  _ to kill it. If we could kill it right now…"

"Adult Bev won't tell me fucking  _ anything, _ she still thinks it's dangerous. She said that she was gonna talk to the others—the adult versions of our friends apparently—and decide whether or not it's safe to tell me shit, so I guess she's fucking useless til then." Richie thumps his forehead against his forearm. "These dreams are so fucking  _ useless. _ "

"It's probably a good sign that they're back, kind of," says Eddie. "That means they're not gone forever. So you'll probably have more, and you'll probably get something useful from one of them. We can still stop this somehow,  _ before  _ we lose our memories."

"I dunno, Spaghetti. I was kind of hoping that we could wait and take care of it twenty-seven years from now," Richie says, and he's mostly kidding, but it's also kind of true, because he doesn't want to deal with the clown again right now. Doesn't want to see the stuff he saw in his dreams when they were kids happen any more than he wants to see the adult shit happen. Part of him had hoped if he found out what happened in the future, then he could just remember it and stop it then. Kick the can down the road and put it on forty-year-old him to remember and not be a dumbass.

"Yeah, well, me either, but I don't think we have a choice, Rich," Eddie says regrettably.

Richie hits his head against his arm a couple more times. "Yeah, you're right," he mutters. He tells himself it'll be worth it if it means all of this doesn't happen in twenty-seven years. If it means he doesn't forget his friends when he leaves. He thinks he'd do anything to prevent that. 

\---

Richie keeps coming back to the dream over the next few days. Mainly the forgetting part, which is objectively the worst part of the whole fucking thing—he can't imagine just  _ not remembering  _ all of this. (Aside from the fact that a demon clown is pretty memorable, he can't understand how anything could make him forget his friends.) But he lingers over the other parts, too, just a little. Everything he learned about his friends. Where they'll live someday, what they'll do someday. The fact that he's apparently some famous comedian, which feels unbelievably unreal, and the fact that Bill is also apparently famous. He would actually never let Bill live the whole thing down if they were talking to each other right now. 

The other stuff sticks out to him, too. Some of it makes sense, he guesses—Ben built that whole-ass clubhouse, so it makes sense he'd be an architect—but the rest of it is just so mystifying. They've been asked about a million times what they wanna do when they grow up, ever since they had to make that stupid little hand-drawn picture book in kindergarten, but it feels weird to actually  _ know _ . And it feels weird that it's all come as such a surprise to Richie; he feels like he barely knows his friends at all. 

He starts bringing it up, when he has the chance. Not that he has many—he's still not seeing anyone, really, especially not Bill. But he runs into the others briefly sometimes, and that's all the excuse he needs to grill them, to try and figure out how they turn into the adults he's seen. 

Richie runs into Ben outside the school one day and they hang out for a while, digging through snacks Ben has stashed in his bag, and he probably asks entirely too many questions about Ben's interest in architecture and Nebraska, based off of Ben's confused face. (His haul: no, Ben's never thought about architecture, he has no idea what he wants to do when he grows up, and he was born in Nebraska, it's where his parents met and his dad died.) He sees Stan about two days later, on a toilet paper run for his mom; apparently Stan's got a couple days left on his sentence after cussing in the synagogue, so he can't stick around, but Richie walks home with him and manages to get in some more prying questions about Atlanta. He learns nothing, except that Stan thinks somewhere south of here sounds neat. He doesn't really see Bev around, so he doesn't really get anything from that, but he also feels like he  _ knows _ Adult Bev now, has an idea of how she turns out. What he really wants to know about is the others. 

Richie brings it up to Eddie the next time he drops by his house. He asks, "So, Dr. K, why the Big Apple? What about it caught your eye?" in one of his better Voices (TV announcer) while he's sprawled across Eddie's bed messing around with his Walkman. 

"I dunno," Eddie says, not looking up from his book. (Apparently Mrs. K approved a "summer reading" trip to the library, so he's got a stack of books that walk the line between "neat" and "school-approved.") "I don't think I've ever thought about going to New York in my life."

Richie gasps dramatically. "Eds! How could you  _ not _ ? New York seems like it's at least the third coolest city in America. LA being the first, of course."

"I guess I never thought about leaving Derry," Eddie says. He sticks a bookmark in his book and closes it but still doesn't look up. "I guess," he adds quietly, "I never thought I  _ would _ ." 

And that idea makes Richie sad in ways he can't quite explain, so he changes the subject quickly. It's still harder than it should be to ask questions about Adult Eddie and Stan, when he still doesn't know whether or not they're going to live past forty. It's why he doesn't know as much about their futures as the others. 

Richie spends probably too much time thinking about the whole thing over the next week or so, and definitely too much time grilling his friends about futures they don't even know about yet, but he can't let it go. The one person whose future he keeps lingering over is Mike's. Adult Bev had said he stayed in Derry and ran the library, that he was the only one who remembered, and Richie doesn't know why he'd stay. He said he wanted to leave someday, and Richie can't blame him; aside from Derry being a  _ literal pit _ , Mike's parents died here. Died  _ horribly  _ here. He can't imagine Mike wanting to stay after that any more than he can imagine Bill wanting to stay after Georgie. And the fact that Mike's the only one who remembers, the fact that Mike's the one who brings them all back, that Bev keeps saying that she needs to ask Mike about things, which Richie takes to mean that he's replaced Bill as leader… Richie  _ really _ wants to know about Adult Mike. 

He hasn't actually seen Mike since the fight, probably because Mike lives so far out, but he finally runs into Mike on the way home from deliveries a few days after talking to Eddie. Richie's relieved beyond relief—aside from wanting to talk to Mike and grill him about his future, he's still bored silly constantly. 

Mike seems somewhere between nervous and awkward upon seeing Richie, but his smile seems genuine, and he doesn't protest when Richie starts riding alongside him. He asks what Richie's been doing lately (saying  _ lately  _ careful in a way that obviously means  _ since the fight _ ), and Richie groans dramatically. "Dying of boredom, Mikey, it's fucking ridiculous. Eddie's still on lockdown, and Stan got himself grounded too—in an admittedly cool way, but  _ still _ —and Ben signed up for summer school and Big Bill still fucking hates me. And it's not like I've really been  _ seeing _ them anyway. It's goddamn great to see you, though, what the hell have you been up to?"

"I've been working on the farm, mostly. Making deliveries," says Mike. "Nothing too exciting. I… I haven't really seen anyone, either." 

He sounds so sad about it that guilt immediately stabs through Richie—yeah, he's guessing Mike's as bummed about the fight as Ben and Stan and Eddie and him all are. Maybe even moreso; he remembers that, like Ben, Mike had seemed really really excited to actually hang out with people. Homeschooling sounds miserable, like regular school without anyone to gripe about it with. 

Richie looks down at the road, clutching the bike handles too hard, and says, "Hey, Mike, listen… I'm sorry about what happened after Neibolt. I kinda wrecked the group, and it definitely fucking sucks."

"That was a shitty day for all of us," Mike says, his voice suddenly grim. "I don't blame you for… I mean, you and Ben and Eddie almost  _ died. _ "

Richie tries not to wince. "Ehh, I woulda been okay," he says. "Unless you're talking about Bill decking me."

Mike laughs a little. "I wasn't, but that  _ was _ pretty crazy."

"That's one word for it, I guess," Richie says, shoving his glasses back up on his face. They pedal in silence for a few minutes before Richie realizes that he has no idea where he's going, but that he definitely doesn't wanna go all the way out to the farm just to come all the way back to sit around by himself. So he says, "Hey, do you have to be back anytime soon?"

Mike shrugs, as best as he can shrug while riding a bike down a dirt road. "I guess not, I got my chores done this morning. Why?"

"Wanna go to the quarry?" 

So they go to the quarry. It's somehow only gotten hotter this summer, and it's a real relief to jump in the water. It's not as fun as it is with everyone else, but it's definitely not a bad time. Mike's a little quieter than Richie's used to—only Benjamin compares—but unlike Ben, he's actually willing to rag right back on Richie. He's also much more game, Beverly Marsh-style, to jump off the cliff. They splash around for what feels like hours, swimming back and forth between the deep and the shallow end, playing a pathetic two-person game of Marco Polo that Mike keeps winning because he swims a lot quieter than Richie and it's a fucking  _ lake  _ with plenty of hiding places. It's the most fun Richie's had since Stan's bar mitzvah. 

He holds off on the future interrogations until later in the day, when they're mostly just floating around in the shade of the cliff. It doesn't feel like the right time til then. Mike's floating lazily, and Richie dunks his head under, comes back up again, and says, "So, Mike, what do you think you'll do if you ever get out of Derry?"

Mike opens one eye to look at Richie. "What do you mean?"

Richie puts on his Snooty Professor Voice and says, "Mikey, m'boy… what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Mike laughs a little, sitting up and shifting to treading water. "Uh… I don't know," he says. "I don't think I'd want to be a farmer."

"Understandable," Richie says, cause farming doesn't sound super interesting. 

"Sometimes I think I might want to do something like what my dad did," says Mike, smiling a little. "He was really interested in history, and he helped out with the Historical Society at the library, collecting Derry history and artifacts. He wanted to write a book someday."

That makes a ton of sense, Richie thinks, if Mike is supposed to stay in Derry and run the library. "So, like… you might want to work in a library?" he prompts. 

Mike shrugs. "Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet."

"But you wouldn't wanna stay in Derry," Richie says, skating his hands over the water's surface. 

Mike shakes his head immediately. "No way. I want to get out of here as soon as I can."

"Me, too," says Richie immediately, kicking his legs wildly to stay afloat. "Who'd wanna stay here?"  _ You, I guess,  _ he thinks first, and then,  _ I hope you don't have to.  _ None of them should have to stay, but Richie doesn't want to forget, and he doesn't want to have to tell Mike all the details of his dreams and hope he can save the day. It feels selfish to put that all on someone else, if Mike doesn't think he's nuts. 

And besides that, if what Eddie said is true, the memory loss thing might not be a problem. They might have to deal with it all now, so they don't forget later. 

Richie and Mike swim for a little longer before Mike says he has to get back and help clean up for the night. They climb out of the quarry and over to where they left their bikes, Richie attempting to dry off by shaking rapidly like a dog. Mike picks his bike up and says, "It's good to see you, Richie."

"You too, Hanlon," says Richie, grinning sideways at him. He wants to say something about how they'll all hang out again, that he's seen it, but he doesn't quite know how to get the words out. He's still not sure how this is all gonna end, if Big Bill is still pissed at him. So he just says, "Catch ya later," before climbing onto his bike and taking off towards home. 

\---

When Richie dreams again, a few days after he sees Mike, it's real fucking weird, and not in the normal way. More in the way of witnessing some weird scene from his adult life that he definitely doesn't understand. 

It starts pretty normal—a wild shove of familiar images, of his friends crawling around in the sewers as kids, in the cave holding hands as adults, of Stan, of Eddie—and then transitions abruptly to the glass-walled room where he'd seen Adult Bev before, where the adult versions of his friends are sitting. Not all of them—Eddie and Stan aren't there, Richie realizes, and a lump immediately builds painfully in his throat. But there's Adult Bill and Mike and Ben and Bev, and Adult Him, slouched on one of the couches with his glasses shoved up on his head, rubbing his eyes. It's trippy as shit to see himself—a different him, but still—and be able to watch himself, especially in an environment not populated by evil clowns and exploding balloons and dying friends, and Richie can't really take his eyes off his adult self. Adult Him looks miserable, he thinks, which makes complete sense if Eddie and Stan are dead, and he suddenly hates that he's standing in a world where they're dead. Even if it is only a dream. 

"It has to be the Deadlights," Adult Mike says suddenly, and Richie turns to watch him. His forehead is furrowed like he's thinking hard, looking down at a spread of papers and books that would impress Ben. "Whatever this is, it has to be connected. Bev and Richie are the only ones who were caught in the Deadlights, so it makes that the two of them would be seeing each other."

"But Richie wasn't caught as a kid," says Adult Bill. "Bev was. W-why would Bev see Richie as a kid rather than the other way around?"

"The Deadlights have never made much sense," Adult Bev says. She's sitting close to Adult Ben, her legs across his lap. "Why should this make any sense?"

"Maybe," Adult Ben offers, "it's some kind of thing that in reverse, or something like that. Bev got caught as a kid, so she's had the visions ever since, Richie got caught as an adult, so he's getting visions from them as a kid?"

"But that's impossible, isn't it? If that's all already happened to Richie," says Bill. "How can he be seeing things that haven't actually happened yet?"

"Come on, Bill, you're a writer," Mike says. "Do you still think of time as a straight line?"

"So you're saying that these dreams are changing the past somehow? Because they didn't happen when we did this, did they?" Bill asks. "Rich, do you remember any of these dreams?"

Adult Richie, regular Richie sees, has his face in his hands. He says, "I don't know, I don't know. Maybe," muffled behind his palms.

"The younger Richie said that the clown grabbed him in the house and almost ate him, and that I saved him from that," says Bev. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't remember it happening that way. I remember the clown lunging at Bill and Richie." Adult Mike and Ben both nod at that, but Adult Bill gets a weird look on his face that Richie can't read.

"He told me that he's seen… how Stan and Eddie die," Bev adds, her voice thick with something like grief. "I don’t know what else he’s seen, but he’s figured out that we all come back, and that the clown’s connected… He wants me to tell him what's going to happen. He said he’s told Eddie, too, and they’re trying to figure out how to stop everything from happening.” 

Richie watches his adult self yank his palms away from his face and look towards Bev, his eyes huge behind his glasses. He looks like he’s about to cry. He says, “H-he—I told Eddie? In 1989, I told Eddie?” Adult Bev nods a little, her face full of sympathy. Richie can’t take his eyes off Adult Him, off of the horror and grief and pain on his face, and he thinks,  _ That’s me, living in a world where Eddie—Eddie  _ and  _ Stan are gone _ , and he wants to throw up.

Adult Bill says, "H-how do we know this is even really Richie? I mean, it sounds so unreal."

"More unreal than an alien demon clown that we killed?" Mike points out. 

"But what if we didn't kill it?" Bill presses. "What if t-this is Its way to try and get to us?"

Adult Richie is on his feet in a second, his hands dropping and his face full of fury, and Richie can't help but think,  _ Good for fucking you,  _ his anger at Bill flaring up all over again. "It's fucking dead, Bill," Adult Him snaps. "We  _ all  _ saw it die! I squeezed its heart with the rest of you and saw it crumble, and Eddie  _ died _ while we were in the middle of doing that. He died  _ for  _ that, and Stan, too, so don't you fucking tell me that It isn't dead after all of that."

"I'm with Richie," says Adult Mike. "It's definitely dead, I felt it, and I felt how the town changed afterwards. My worry isn't about the clown being here, now, when we are." He takes an uneven breath, like what he's about to say is hard. "What I'm worried about… is if the dreams are having really are from 1989, that means they're from a time when Pennywise is alive. If their conversations are… transcending time somehow, then could Pennywise be interfering with Bev's end? Or both ends?"

"Telling the younger Richie what happens might make things worse," Adult Ben supplies, rubbing Adult Bev's ankle with one hand. 

" _ No _ ," Adult Richie says furiously. "Fuck that. Fuck that line of thinking! We have a chance to change what happened, change how things end up—to possibly  _ save  _ Eddie and Stan—and you wanna let it go because you're  _ scared? _ Fuck it. Fucking fuck that! I don't care  _ what _ it impacts if we could bring them back. And I know I would've felt the same way twenty-seven years ago." 

_ I do,  _ Richie thinks, his heart thudding,  _ I do, I do _ , and then he says, "I  _ do _ ," but no one can hear him. 

"Richie," Ben tries to say, but Adult Richie's still talking. "Bev, you've just got to tell him—me, whatever—how to kill it and how to kill it  _ safely _ . The little asshole's an idiot, but he can handle this. If what you're telling me is true, than he's already seen everything else we've been through, he's probably a mess already."

"Shut the fuck up, old man!" regular Richie snaps automatically at the  _ asshole _ and  _ mess _ thing, his head spinning. "And he's fucking  _ right _ ," he hisses at his older friends, "what the fuck is wrong with you that you won't do this? Bill, you were so ready to fucking die for this that you punched me in the fucking  _ face _ !”

Bev's face scrunches up like she's confused, and she turns her head a little, but she shakes her head then and says, "Richie's right. I don't want to make things worse, but if we can possibly save Stan and Eddie, then the least we can do is to try." Bill ducks his head down and swipes at his eyes; Ben sniffles and rubs at Bev's shoulder reassuringly.

"I don't disagree," says Mike, his voice thick like he's gonna cry, too. "I  _ don't.  _ I want them back, too. But I want to make sure we're smart about this, if this is some kind of trick."

"I think 1989 Pennywise might have better things to do than imitate teenage me," says Adult Richie. "Like terrorizing and traumatizing the shit out of all of us? Eating our classmates?"

"Maybe it's some sort of belated survival technique," Adult Ben says, and his voice is thick, too, even if he's saying all the wrong things. "Imitating Richie to get Bev to change what happened?"

"Screw you! I'm not the fucking clown!" Richie shouts, even though he knows they can't hear him. But Adult Bev turns on the couch again, looking straight towards Richie, and Richie feels his spine tingle horribly like he's creeped out or something. 

"It's not the fucking clown," Adult Richie says, too, his hands balling and unwilling into fists. "Why would the clown imitate a younger me in  _ Bev's dreams _ and want to know what happened when we were kids? What the fuck is  _ that _ ? It's not the clown, but it  _ might _ be a chance to fucking change things. To get our friends back. How the fuck can we—"

"Richie?" Bev says, and Adult Richie stops abruptly and turns towards her with annoyance, but Adult Bev isn't looking at him. She's looking right at where present-day dream Richie is standing. 

"Oh, fuck," Richie says, his heart pounding, "fuck, Bev, can you see me? Can they see me, too?" He waves his hands up and down like an air traffic controller. 

The room starts spinning, the colors and voices going all fuzzy; Richie thinks he hears Ben ask if Bev is okay, and Bev say, "Guys, I think he's—" But he doesn't hear the rest because the room begins to move away, swirling out of control, and then he's in the bathroom he's in the cave his friends are pulling him away and he's shouting,  _ No guys we can still help him,  _ he's screaming  _ Eddie _ and he's waking up with wet cheeks all over again, muffling sobs in his comforter. 

Richie heads straight down to the phone as soon as he's stopped bawling; he doesn't want Eds to hear that. He sits in his usual position against the table and dials the number without even really having to think about it, he's been able to shell out Eddie's number automatically for as long as he can remember. It rings four times before Eddie answers with a sleepy, "H'lo?" and Richie says, "I had another dream, Eds."

He can practically hear Eddie waking up on the other end; his voice sounds a lot more alert when he answers, "Are you okay? What'd you see?"

"It was different, it was weird," Richie says, shoving up his glasses to rub at his eyes. "It was the usual shit at the end, but it started with our lame adult selves standing around talking about stuff."

"Really?" Eddie says on the other end, curious. "W-were Stan and I there?"

Richie winces hard, his hand against his face. "Uh, no," he mutters. "No, uh, it was… after everything, I think."

"Oh," Eddie says, and the tone of his voice is like a punch to the gut. "Uh, so what were they saying?"

_ They were fucking arguing over whether or not to bring you back,  _ Richie thinks, enraged, his hand curling into a fist around the hall rug. _ And nobody was making any stupid sense except Adult Me and maybe Bev and Mike. _ But he can't say that, so he says instead, "I dunno… I think they were discussing the dreams or whatever. Adult Bev's dreams, I guess. They thought it might've been something called the Deadlights."

"What the fuck is the Deadlights?" 

"I have no fucking clue," says Richie. "Maybe it's related to all the lights I see in my dream? Who the fuck knows. Anyways, they don't think that it's me in the dream. They're worried I'm the clown, even though it's dead, and I'm like sending Bev dreams through time to try and save my own life. What the actual fuck?"

"That's not a huge surprise," Eddie says with a yawn. "If any of us was secretly the clown, it'd probably be you."

Richie muffles a laugh under the heel of his hand. "Wow, fuck you, too, dipshit," he says. "But I am clearly  _ not  _ the fucking clown, so their thinking is fucking useless."

"Rich, have you considered that maybe these visions might be the clown fucking with  _ you _ ?" Eddie asks, a sudden edge of fear in his voice. "I mean, maybe none of this is real, and he's just trying to freak you out so he can eat you or something."

"No way, Spaghetti. It's not that," Richie says. "I think the clown might know about them—" It definitely fucking knows about them, but he's not talking about that. "—but I don't think the dreams are  _ because  _ of it. Too much shit from them has already happened, and I dunno why the clown would  _ tell  _ me what it's gonna do. That feels real fucking dumb. It gives me a chance to  _ stop  _ what he's doing."

"Yeah, I guess so. Unless it wants to scare you worse or something," says Eddie, frustrated. Richie grimaces hard, his head rocking back against the table. "So, uh, did you see anything else?"

"Not really. Uh, I think Adult Bev saw me— _ me _ me, not Adult Me. And then the dream ended. Nothing really useful. Except Adult Bev might tell me about what happens cause she's agreeing with me now, cause she's a fucking genius and I charmed the hell out of her, cause that's what I do."

"Right," Eds says dryly, and Richie rolls his eyes. "Wait, you're saying she  _ saw  _ you? In the future, in your dream? How the fuck is that possible?"

"How the fuck is  _ any  _ of this possible, Eds? I'm seeing shit that hasn't happened yet and talking to a grown-up version of our friend." Richie throws a hand up. "She looked straight at me and said,  _ Richie _ . I'm pretty sure that means she saw me. And remember, I've been seeing all this shit that hasn't happened while I'm awake. The future-ghosts, remember?"

"That's you seeing stuff that's  _ going  _ to happen. I don't think you're gonna pop up in the future anytime soon, Rich."

"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened this summer," Richie says matter-of-factly. "Anyways, it doesn't matter, because I think she's going to tell me. I think she's changed her mind. I could tell, she was taking Adult Me's side even when Mike, Ben, and Bill were saying it wasn't safe. I think she's gonna tell me how to kill it."

"So you were… you as an adult wanted to tell… you now what's happening? What happened?" Eddie asks. 

"That was muddled as shit, Eds," says Richie. "But… yeah. Yeah, of course I fucking did, dumbass." His throat is thick; he swallows hard, wiping his cheeks. "Of course I did." 

Eddie's quiet for a minute. When he finally speaks again, it's to say, "S-so you think that Bev's gonna help you out?"

"If I ever have the dream again, yeah, I think so," says Richie. "I think she's willing to risk it to bring you and Stanley back… I think they  _ all _ are," he adds, because that's suddenly important, that Eddie knows that. "They're huge fucking idiots because they don't wanna do it cause they think it's dangerous, but I mean, all of 'em were about ten seconds away from bawling." Yeah, he can kind of hate them for being so hesitant, but they still looked devastated as shit, it's not like they're  _ monsters. _

"I mean," Eddie says gingerly, "I  _ get  _ why they're scared."

"That doesn't fucking matter," Richie says. "It seriously… it does not matter, okay? It  _ shouldn't _ matter, and they should fucking… they should  _ see  _ that, okay?" His voice is rising indignantly; he kinda wants to punch something. He scrubs at his face, half-unaware that he's even crying. 

"I think… I think we might have to tell the others, Rich," Eddie says tremulously. "If Bev's gonna tell you how to kill it… we have to be ready, and we all have to be together."

Richie leans his head miserably against the table. "I think you're right." He sighs, banging his head against the table a little. "I mean, they're gonna know eventually, right? Why not now?"

"You should talk to Bill," Eddie says. "In the morning. Get him filled in. We'll take it from there."

"Yeah." Richie wipes his eyes again and tries not to sniffle. "Yeah, okay."

Richie hears a faint sniffling sound on the other end, wonders if Eddie's crying, too. "I-I really don't want to see that clown again, Rich," he says quietly. 

"Me either," Richie whispers. 

"W-we need to end it, though," Eddie adds, his voice firm. "We need to end it now. For the rest of the town, too. Kids shouldn't keep dying, it's not right."

Richie nods, his jaw set firm, says out loud, "Yeah, c'mon, you kidding me, Eds? We're gonna fuck it up. 'Specially with Bev on our side, she skewers the hell outta a clown."

Eddie laughs a little, almost relievedly. "Call me after you talk to Bill, okay?" he says. "Or come get me, or… something, I'll break out if I need to."

"Yeah, you might be my voice of reason. You're how I butter up Big Bill and convince him I'm sane."

"That'd be a feat," says Eddie, and Richie thinks he almost sounds like he's smiling. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Right-o," Richie says, Britishly, and hangs up, picks himself up off the ground and heads upstairs to get some more sleep before he goes to confront the friend he's been unspeakably furious at for a month. 

\---

Here is the thing: for all of Richie's terror-filled nights, for all the nightmares he's had and all the nights he refused to go to sleep afterwards because he didn't want to see any of that again, he has never had a nightmare twice in one night. That's been a sense of security for him, even when he's been too scared to go back to sleep; it has never happened twice in one night. (He doesn't count the night after Neibolt, since the second dream wasn't really a  _ nightmare. _ )

That changes, and Richie realizes that it  _ has  _ changed only after it's too late, after he's already gone upstairs and gone back to sleep. It starts almost immediately after he's closed his eyes. The lights are blinding him again and he's falling, falling, hitting the ground in the midst of the cave, or the sewers, he doesn't know anymore. He's in the cave he always sees when they're adults, except they're kids, and they're shouting and they're beating the shit out of the clown. They're beating the clown until It crawls away, falls down a cavern and falls apart, and Bill tells It that it's going to starve, but Richie knows it won't, and he just wants to scream,  _ It's not dead, it's not fucking dead!  _ but they wouldn't be able to hear him anyway.

They're in a field and Bill is cutting their palms with a piece of glass. They're clasping hands in a circle. They're doing the same thing as adults, except Stan isn't there. They're standing around in the clubhouse, they're walking through the Barrens, they're laughing around a table covered in food, and there's an empty chair for Stan. They're chanting something, they're dropping things into a fire, they're scattering under the gaze of a spider clown. Richie feels himself rising, and Eddie brings him down. And Eddie is gone. And they're dragging him out, and he's screaming. And Stan's in the bathtub, his wrists dripping blood on the floor, and Eddie's slumped against a wall with a jacket crumpled against his stomach, and Richie is screaming, screaming, screaming. And the clown is laughing, laughing like it's never gonna stop.

He's back in the room from before, everyone but Eddie and Stan standing around. They all look shaken; their eyes are all red like they've been crying. Ben's holding Bev's hand, Bev's got her free arm wrapped around the shoulders of Adult Him. Bill's rubbing at his face. Mike looks around at them all and says, "So we're going to do it."

Bev exhales heavily and says, "Yeah, we are. We  _ have _ to. For Eddie and Stan."

Mike nods. Adult Richie shoves his face in his hands. 

"So t-the idea is to tell him so they can kill the clown  _ then _ , right?" Bill asks. "They— _ we  _ do it then? We don't forget?"

"Hopefully," says Bev. "If I can talk to Richie before then. It's not… it's not really running parallel to where we are. They might have already fought the clown by the time I see him again."

"I  _ haven't, _ " Richie says loudly. "I haven't fought the clown yet, wake up and fucking  _ tell me _ !" He is  _ so fucking close  _ to getting the info he needs, to be able to tell Bill everything, and now they can't fucking see him. 

They're still talking, not even Bev looking at him this time, and Adult Him is saying something about how he can't do this again, he can't do this again, and how fucked up is it that they're relying on thirteen-year-old him, of all people, to do this, and Richie would protest but it seems too true. Ben's asking what Bev's going to tell him, and Richie tries to pick out what she's saying, but a sound cuts across the dream, drowning everything out. It's a scream, Richie suddenly realizes, and his pulse picks up like an electric shock; it's a scream, and he can't place it at first, but then it clicks: it's Beverly. Not Adult Bev, but his Bev, the kid version of Bev, sounding as terrified as she had in Neibolt. 

The adult versions forgotten, Richie bellows, "Bev!" and whirls around to find her, but she isn't there. The room he's in crumbles around him, giving way to darkness, and Richie calls out, "Beverly?" The room goes all blurry around him, like his glasses have fallen off, and he blinks hard and shakes his head, only to find himself in the arcade. Bill's standing in front of him, and he's saying, "It got Beverly," and Richie understands. 

Bill's still talking, but Richie can't hear any of what he's saying, because all he hears is the fucking clown laughing like a maniac. He whirls back around only for the room to crumble into darkness again, and he can't see or hear anything but the clown, laughing and laughing and screaming, "You die if you try! You  _ die if you try! _ "

Richie screams himself awake, shoving wildly at his sheets. It's daylight, mid-morning probably, sunlight screaming through his windows. 

He's moving almost automatically, rolling out of bed and changing frantically, shoving ratty sneakers on. He's telling himself that Bev has to survive this if it happens, because he's  _ seen  _ her as an adult and it has to have happened that way before, but he doesn't care; he's not letting Bev be taken if he can stop it. He changes quickly and rushes out of his room, past his sister who shouts something after him about why the fuck is he shouting at ten in the morning. He heads straight down the stairs to the phone in the hallway, where he dials Eddie's number frantically without thinking. 

Mrs. K answers, of  _ course _ , her voice annoyingly fucking prim as she says, "Kaspbrak residence."

"Hey, Mrs. K, it's Richie. I really, really need to talk to Eddie," Richie says in a harsh rush, too winded and panicked to be polite. He needs to fill in Eddie fucking  _ quick _ , so he can get to Bev's and make sure she's okay. 

He can practically  _ hear  _ Mrs. K shift over the phone, coil up in rage. "Eddie is at the pharmacy right now," she says, her voice tight with anger. "And I thought I told you not to come around here anymore. He's done with you. I told you…"

Richie slams down the phone, furious and hating Mrs. K's fucking guts. He doesn't have time for this shit. He can fill Eddie in later, he'll understand; right now, Richie  _ has  _ to go check on Bev. He speeds into the kitchen where his mom is loading the dishwasher and says, "Ma, Ma, I'm going out."

His mom sticks a plate in the bottom tray and stands up, saying, "Honey, are you all right? I could hear you screaming from down here."

"I'm  _ fine _ ," Richie snaps, practically jittery. "I'm fine, I just, I have to go. I'm—meeting Stanley at the arcade, and I'm late." The lie comes to him all at once; it makes total sense, his mom has seen him hang out with Stanley recently and Stanley hates when people are late. "I gotta go," he says, and speeds out of the kitchen, ignoring his mom calling, "Wait, Richie, will you be back for lunch?" He lets the front door slam behind him and goes for his bike where he dropped it on the front lawn. 

It usually takes about fifteen minutes to bike over to Bev's, but Richie does it in about ten, biking like a maniac. He drops his bike in front of the fire escape and runs up as quickly as he can, trying not to picture Adult Bev running  _ down  _ this same fire escape and praying that Bev's dad is at work. He wants to help Bev, but he also really, really does not wanna piss her dad off. The best scenario, actually, is one where Bev's dad is gone and Bev is totally all right, and he can fill her in on this bullshit and save her from the clown. 

Richie reaches the door that says  _ Marsh  _ on the outside and finds it hanging open. " _ Fuck _ ," he hisses under his breath, kicking the doorframe hard; what if he's too late, what if it's already gotten her? He tries to tell himself that it's nothing, that maybe her dad just didn't notice it was open when he left. He clenches his fingers into a fist and enters, cautiously. "Bev?" he calls gingerly. "A-are you okay?" No answer. The apartment is strangely dark, for the middle of a summer day, and as Richie walks more fully inside, he almost steps on some piece of paper ripped in half. When he looks closer, he sees that it's a postcard, familiar cramped handwriting on the back.

Richie's blood runs cold for reasons he can't explain, and he calls, "Beverly?" Still no answer. He pushes his way through the rest of the apartment and finds it empty, all until he finds the bathroom. Bev's dad is sprawled out on the floor, unconscious, blood pooling under his head. 

Richie sucks in a sharp breath and shouts, " _ Bev! _ Bev, where are you?" again, even though he's sure she won't answer. He's still trying to tell himself that it might not be the clown, it might not be, Bev's dad is a fucking asshole, they all know that, and if they fought and Bev ran off, than she might be safe from the clown. She's probably with Bill, she's probably just fine, and they'll figure out this shit with her dad and protect her from the clown and it'll all be okay.

But any hope of that fades when he turns around and sees into Bev's room, sees blood-red words written on the ceiling. When Richie looks closer, it reads,  _ YOU DIE IF YOU TRY.  _

Richie swears, loudly, and turns on his heels. He doesn't know how much time they have, but he knows that they have to find her, they have to find her  _ now.  _ He can't go back to sleep and hope that Adult Bev is waiting for him, he isn't even sure that she'll still  _ be  _ there. (He thinks that this must've happened the first time, if he saw Bill telling him, but what if it didn't? What if he waits and he gets there too late?) He barrels down the hall and into the living room, only to almost smack straight into Bill, a similar worry on his face. 

Bill reels back when he sees Richie, like Richie's the one who punched him—and Richie hears himself telling Bill that Georgie's dead again and inwardly winces, realizing that yeah, in a way he did. "W-w-w-what are you doing here?" he says defensively. 

Richie pushes down his hurt, his anger collected over the past few weeks (at this Bill AND Adult Bill, if he's being honest), and says, "Bill, Bev's gone. The clown took her." 

Bill goes pale, almost like Richie  _ has  _ hit him, and says, "Wh-wh-wh…" 

"C-c'mon, and I'll show you," Richie says unsteadily, and he leads Bill back down the hall to Bev's room. 

Bill goes even paler when he sees the words scrawled across the ceiling. " _ Fuck _ ," he hisses. "W-we have to go after her."

Richie nods hard. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, we've gotta go. As soon as we get the others. We… we have to end this  _ now _ , we have to end it today." 

"R-R-Richie," Bill says, grabbing his arm. It's not a hard grab, not like he's mad, but there's an edge of urgency in it. He tugs his elbow a little. "W-w-w—how d-did you know? About Bev?" 

Richie's hand flexes anxiously, trying not to think about how badly Eddie took this. If anyone's gonna believe him, it's Big Bill. He  _ did  _ say he'd tell Bill today. "I dreamt it," he says. 

"Y-You  _ dreamt  _ it?" 

Yeah, okay, Bill's looking at him like he's crazy. Richie keeps going, only because he has to. "I've seen a lot of things in my dreams, Big Bill," he says, maybe a little grimly. "I saw Eddie breaking his arm in Neibolt, and I've seen what happens when we fight this clown now, and I've seen what happens in twenty-seven years when we fight the clown again. We're not supposed to kill the clown today." Richie swallows hard, like he's steeling himself up. "That's why we  _ have  _ to kill the clown today, okay? We have to end this now so we don't have to do this all over again when we're all grown up. We have to do it now."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some violence (mostly on par with the climaxes of both movies) and internalized homophobia.

“T-t-tell me again,” Bill says, a little sternly. "From the beginning."

Richie groans, setting the phone back on the receiver after Ben has hung up. They're most of the way through the phone calls they need to make, but it's taking too long to reach everyone, and Bill's made him retell this  _ twice _ now. "Look, Big Bill, I know it's confusing, but can't we just go over this in more detail  _ after  _ we save our friend and kill the demon clown? Please?"

"G-g-give me the short version," Bill says. "I-I need to wrap my head around this."

Richie sighs, and turns away from Bill's wall phone. They've just got to call Eddie now, they've saved him for last since he lives between Bill's house and Neibolt, so he figures they have a little bit of time for him to explain this shit fucking  _ again.  _ "I've been having weird dreams that predict the future since June," he says. "Since back before we ever started searching the Barrens. I saw shit like Betty Ripsom's shoe and Eddie's broken arm and all that bullshit. I also saw us as adults, because we all come back in twenty-seven years to fight the clown again, cause it comes back like Ben said. Except for Stan. Stan dies before we come back." Bill winces, not for the first time. Richie grimaces, too, but keeps going. "A lot of shit happens. We fight the clown, and I'm pretty sure we beat it, but Eddie dies, too."

"What about all that s-s-stuff with Bev, what the fuck is that about?" Bill asks, his hands shaking right along with his voice. Richie figures this is not the right time to tell him that Bev marries Ben, if she lives. (She  _ will _ live, he tells himself firmly, she'll be just fine, this probably happened before, they'll get to her first, they  _ have  _ to.)

"I've been seeing Adult Bev in my dreams, and she sees me, too. Fucking keep up, Big Bill," he says impatiently. "She says it's because of something called the Deadlights, whatever the fuck  _ that  _ is. But she's been talking to the adult us, I saw them doing that last night—they're trying to decide if they should tell me how to kill the clown. They're all afraid—you included, by the way, thanks a lot—that if they tell me what happens, I'll change something worse. I think they finally decided to do it, but the clown barged in and showed me that Bev was gone. Oh, also, Adult Mike is the new you, I'm apparently a successful comedian, you're a writer dude, and Stan wears lame old guy sweaters."

Bill blinks at him like he's crazy. "That s-sounds fucking crazy, R-Richie."

"Yeah, so you've said," Richie snaps, picking up the phone and dialing the beginning of Eddie's number. The bruise is long gone, but his cheek still kinda stings where Bill slugged him. Phantom pain or whatever. "Do you believe me or not?"

Bill sighs. "Y-yeah, I do," he says. "I don't know how else you would've known B-B-Beverly was gone." He curls his hands into fists, shoving him in his pockets. "If t-this has been going on for so long, wh-wh-wh-wh—you should've  _ told _ us."

Richie hangs up the phone and turns back to look at Bill. "Figured you'd think I was crazy," he says quietly. "And who the hell am I to tell Stan and Eddie that they're gonna die someday? I-I told Eddie, but that's just cause he's a stubborn little shit that figured out something was wrong." 

"So E-E-Eddie knows?"

"He kind of forced me to tell," Richie says. "And he said last night that I should fill you Losers in on everything. And also, you know, I kind of hated your guts until this morning, Billy."

Bill laughs, a little self-deprecating. "W-well, same here, actually."

"Gee, thanks a lot," says Richie, having lost the energy to be pissed off. He scrubs his hands through his hair and says, "L-look, Bill… can you hold off on telling the others? I don't wanna stop and try to explain, not yet. It'll take too much time and Bev needs us."

Bill's face scrunches up like he disagrees, but he nods anyway. "D-d-do you know how to kill the clown?" 

"Not yet." Richie makes a face. "I've seen us all chanting some shit in a cave, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't work."

"So w-w-we'll be going in blind."

Richie picks up the phone and starts to dial again. "Do we have a choice?" he says grimly. 

Bill replies, his voice hard, "N-no." Richie figured he would say that—it's fucking  _ Bill Denbrough _ , he's their fearless leader—but he's still relieved to hear it.

The doorbell rings, and Bill goes to answer it, just as Eddie picks up his phone. "Kaspbrak residence," he says, his voice grim. 

"Eds, it's me. I tried to call you but your mom said you were out," Richie says in a rush. 

"Yeah, she mentioned that when I got back," says Eddie, sounding almost relieved now. "I tried calling  _ your _ house, but your mom said you were at the arcade with Stan… Richie, what happened? Did you tell the others?"

"Kind of." Richie winces. "The clown took Bev, Eddie. I dreamt it, and when I went to her apartment to check, she was gone." Eddie inhales sharply on the other end; Richie looks at the ground, winding Bill's ridiculously long phone cord around his wrist. He fucking hates this part, having to tell everyone. He's only made the calls cause Bill was so freaked out, his hands shaking too bad to dial. Mike and Stan sounded as horrified as he feels right now; Ben sounded like he was ready to cry. 

"I-I think she's still alive," he adds quickly. "Bev, I think she's… she  _ has _ to be, right? If I've seen her in the future?"

"R-right," Eddie says in a tight voice. "Yeah. Yeah, she's gonna be fine." But he doesn't sound entirely sure about that. 

"I-I told Bill," Richie adds hastily. "About the dreams. He found me at Bev's, and I… I told him to wait to tell the others, until after this is all over."

"Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea," says Eddie hurriedly. "We're going after her?"

"Fucking  _ duh _ ," Richie says, banging one knee against the wall. "W-we said we'd pick you up on the way, since you're so close to Neibolt. We've called the others, we're gonna leave soon."

"Okay," Eddie says, his words thick with fear and determination. "Okay, I-I'll be there."

"Okay." Richie swallows hard, jiggling his knee back and forth; this is the part he's been dreading, that they all have to go down there, Eddie and Stan included. He would go alone if he thought he had any chance of not fucking dying. He can't tell them to stay behind, though, he'll sound even more nuts and he's pretty sure none of them will agree to that. 

"Hey, Eds?" he says, mostly whispering now even though he's pretty sure Bill's outside with the others. He doesn't want anyone else to hear, but he at least needs Eddie to hear it. "Be… be careful in there, okay?"

"Only if you are, too, dipshit," Eddie says, in that tone somewhere between teasing and warmth that tugs at Richie's gut. He hangs up on the other end and Richie lets out a tight breath, leans fully forward on one of Bill's kitchen cabinets and shuts his eyes. They can do this, he tells himself. The Adult Losers did it, and they didn't even die in the process. They can get down there and figure out how to kill the stupid fucking clown somewhere along the way. 

He takes another shaky breath and pictures them all as adults, the brief glimpses he's gotten: Mike stepping into the leadership role, being the one they all look to for advice; Bill dressing all adult, off writing books that Richie never knew he wanted to write; Ben being reassuring, at Bev's side, holding her hand; Bev twisting that ring, giving him those stupid motherly looks as if she's not a huge dumbass herself. Bev fucking  _ alive. _ Stan and Eddie, alive too; Stan in his dumb sweaters and glasses, off being happy somewhere, living a good life in Atlanta; Eddie dressed for his boring job and wading through the Barrens with rolled up jeans and arm wrestling him at the table in the restaurant. And Adult Him, because he  _ does _ grow up. They all grow up. They're going to make it out. 

Richie inhales sharply, opens his eyes and drops the phone, breaking into a run and heading straight for Bill's front door. They're all there on the lawn but Mike, sitting on their bikes like they're waiting for him. Ben's face is white with worry, and Stan kind of looks like he wants to throw up, and Bill—Bill gives Richie this look like he's asking  _ him _ what to do, like Richie's the leader, which is just fucking nuts. Richie should've filled him in on these dreams a long time ago because Bill is obviously the leader here and he should have enough knowledge to take care of this shit. 

"Spaghetti Man's ready," he says simply, and goes for his bike where he dropped it before. Mike coasts up just then, braking just enough to slow down, some weird gun and ammo dangling off of him. A part of Richie kind of recognizes that, but he doesn't have the energy to dig into that right now. He clambers up on his bike and takes off wordlessly with the rest of them, pedaling as hard as he can towards Eddie's house. 

Eddie bursts out the front as they approach, despite the predictably frantic protests of Mrs. K behind him; he grabs his own bike and takes off without breaking a sweat, cast and all. Someone's written something on his cast, something that looks like  _ LOSER  _ to Richie the further they ride, but Eddie's covered up the  _ S  _ with a  _ V.  _ Richie doesn't say anything because the timing seems fucked, but he does kind of have to bite back a fond grin. Fuckin' Eddie Kaspbrak. 

They ride like maniacs, straight to Neibolt, a place Richie's been avoiding like the plague, where he kind of genuinely thought he would never fucking set foot again. Hopefully, he tries to tell himself, today means he won't ever have to come back. Ever again. 

Everyone dumps their bikes on the front lawn and approach the house with the cautious nature Richie expects from the whole thing. Eddie yanks out his fanny pack and hurls it away like it's something poisonous, like it's something he wants to get away from, and Richie kind of can't believe it. Bill motions to the fence spikes on the ground, for potential weapons; Richie could point out that it doesn't seem like those things are really gonna work, since Beverly clearly didn't kill the thing before with one, but that's clearly not the optimism they're going for, and also, he figures you'd have to be fucking nuts to go in without weapons. He grabs an empty beer bottle and smashes it against the rail in an attempt to get a weapon of his own, like people do in the movies. But the whole thing shatters away instead, leaving him with a pathetic amount of the neck of the bottle in his hand. The others are kind of staring at him weird, so he just gives up and tosses the thing away. 

They file up the stairs and inside, one by one—together this time. Richie’s up at the front with Bill, already scanning over the place, already trying to keep a look out for the fucking clown, and he doesn’t even notice Stan isn’t with them until Ben says his name. He turns back to look and finds Stan standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with fear. 

A lump builds abruptly in his throat, and he almost wants to tell Stan to stay. (He doesn’t want Stan to come in anymore than Stan wants to come in himself; he wants them  _ all _ to stay outside where it’s safe.) But Bill speaks first, saying, “Stan, we all have to go.” 

Richie looks at him in astonishment, and Bill looks back, like he’s hesitating, remembering what Richie had told him. But he keeps talking anyway, even if it  _ is _ with hesitation. “B-B-Beverly was right. If we split up like last time, that clown will kill us, one by one. But if we s-stick together, all of us… we'll win.” 

Richie doesn’t know if that’s true, but he doesn’t want to stand around and argue with Bill about it, not again. Besides, Bill’s kind of right—if they leave Stan alone out here, there’s absolutely no guarantee that the clown won’t just pop up out there and kill him right now instead of waiting twenty-seven years. If they’re all together, he can try to protect them all. If they split up, he has no control.

Stanley takes a deep breath, like he’s convincing himself it’ll be okay, and then steps into the house. The others keep going, filing further into the house, but Richie hangs back to clap Stan on the shoulder in a pathetic attempt at comfort. “It’ll be okay, Stancakes,” he says, praying that it's true. “Just stick by me, I’ll keep ya safe.”

Stan forces a lackluster chuckle and says, “Yeah, sure.” But he throws Richie a look like he’s grateful. Richie pats his shoulder again and sticks by him as they all follow Bill downstairs; the back might be better, actually, he can keep an eye on all of them. Eddie’s near the back, too, and he looks over his shoulder at Richie nervously. Richie shrugs, and tries his best to look reassuring. It’s probably not a good look on him, but whatfuckingever; he’ll kill the stupid clown first and worry about being reassuring later. 

Bill leads them all down into the basement, where some decaying well is embedded in the floor. This must be the well he and Ben were going on about the day they went into Neibolt the first time, the one Bill said the clown escaped into. Richie halfway wants to make a crack about wishing wells, but he can’t muster up the energy; he’s scared to the point of being ready to shit himself, and the sight of the well, unsurprisingly, is doing nothing to help. That just fucking looks like something you fall down and get lost in forever. 

They all crowd around the edge, shining their flashlights down a cavern that definitely has no water in it, and that doesn’t seem to have a bottom, either. Fucking great. “Beverly?” Ben calls into it, and his words echo back at them. There’s no answer.

“How are we supposed to get down there?” Mike asks. Bill and Eddie look at Richie like  _ he’s  _ supposed to fucking know; he shrugs, definitely as lost as they are, what the fuck. He does not like being the Bill or Adult Mike figure; he’s passing the torch back as soon as the clown is dead. 

Bill looks behind them, then, and sees some long rope attached to a pulley thing from the ceiling. “T-that works,” he says. Richie goes and helps him drag the mass over, tossing it down the well; Mike yanks at it hard from where it hangs from the ceiling—to make sure they don’t fall to their gruesome deaths, Richie guesses—and it holds. Bill clambers up on the edge of the well and grabs the rope, climbing down it like it’s sixth grade gym all over again. Eddie climbs up next, grabbing the rope with his good hand. Richie pats his shoulder absently, scanning the well scrutinizingly and seeing only Bill climbing from the rope into some little cavern thing. Mike steadies Eddie on the edge and then Eddie’s climbing down after him. 

Ben goes next, and then Stan, casting nervous looks around as he descends, but doing it a hell of a lot better than Richie ever was able to. Richie wants to go last, make sure everyone gets down safely, but Mike tells him to go on. “I’ll hold the rope,” he says. So Richie goes on, shimmying down clumsily, his hands sweaty and burning around the rope as he holds on as tight as he can—he kind of doesn’t wanna fall and crack his head open before he even gets a chance to save his friends. He goes extremely slow, shoes slipping on the side of the well, until his friends grab him and pull him into the hole. 

Richie doesn’t realize how collassally stupid it was to go down before Mike until he’s already down there, catching his breath on the slimy stones. He remembers in a flash: Bowers, attacking Mike. Bowers, holding Mike’s weird-ass gun to his head. Mike, throwing Bowers down the well, how the  _ fuck  _ did he not recognize it?

He shoots up so fast he bangs his head on the top of the tunnel and bellows, “Mike! Bowers is up there!” Bill and Eddie are looking at him in a flash, Eddie grabbing his arm, and Richie shoves his way forward to try and look up, but Mike’s shouting out in pain before he can see what the fuck is going on. 

His friends are all shouting Mike’s name, and Richie’s trying to grab for the rope, but Bowers is leaning over the well. His face is covered in blood, and Richie’s telling himself that it isn’t Mike’s blood, it can’t be, he’s seen this, but Bowers is baaing like a demented sheep, and Eddie’s yanking his arm and saying, “What’s happening? Richie, what’s happening up there?” Richie grabs for the rope again, but Bowers gets it first, pulling it out of reach even as they all grab for it, effectively fucking trapping them down there. 

Richie sees it again, Bowers holding the gun to Mike’s head, and he screams, “Mike! Mike, get the gun!” leaning halfway out of the hole and still seeing nothing as Bowers turns away from the well. All they can hear then is Bowers’s voice, sounds of scuffling, like they’re fighting, and Richie knows they made it out in the dream, they made it out every time, but that doesn’t stop him from being scared shitless. He’s screaming Mike’s name with the rest of them. 

“I sh-sh-sh-should get up there,” Bill says, leaning out of the hole with Richie, and then he’s turning to Richie, his eyes wide, saying, “R-R-Richie, what’s happening, wh-wh—” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Richie shouts, because he’s seen how this ends, but all he can think about now is every time Adult Bev was too freaked out to tell him what happened because what if he changed something, what if he did something wrong? He's terrified that all of the Adult Thems were right and he's fucked up and Mike's gonna die. “MIKE!” he shouts, bracing himself against the side of the well as he leans even further out, and his friends are pulling him back by his shirt, and he’s still trying to pull forward when Mike shoves Bowers over the lip of the well and he goes plunging down. Someone yanks him hard out of the way and he goes tumbling back into the hole as Bowers falls, banging against the side of the well and screaming all the way. “Holy shit,” Richie hisses, relieved and terrified all at once.

“Mike!” Eddie shouts, the rest of them pushing past Richie, and they all breathe sighs of relief when they hear Mike say, “I’m okay, I'm okay, I'm okay.” Richie shuts his eyes, leaning hard against the weird rock walls, thinking that okay, maybe Adult Bev was right, but she can never ever know that. And things went mostly the same this time. 

There’s a loud clattery sound, like Mike’s dropped something, and Richie surges forward with the rest of them in time to see his ammo falling down the well after Bowers. “Fuck,” Eddie says under his breath. Above them, Mike looks pretty devastated, but he turns away from the well anyway, assumedly to go and get the rope again. 

Richie moves back from the edge on his hands and knees, setting back near Ben and bending nearly in half to catch his breath, to take stock of everything that's happened. He'd seen the Bowers and Mike thing, but he'd only remembered it in the middle of it happening, how fucking useless is that? He racks his brain frantically, trying to remember  _ literally anything  _ else from what happens down here, but he can't come up with anything. He'd never gotten very much from the first time; it's always been more about the second. He lets out a frustrated breath, shoving up his glasses and burying his face in his hands, but he freezes in the midst of doing that when he realizes he only hears three voices. Three, when he should be hearing four. 

Richie yanks his hands away from his face and looks at his friends. There's Ben and Bill and Eddie, watching Mike come down the rope. But there's no Stan. Richie looks frantically back and forth through the tunnel, in front of him and behind him, but he can't see him, he can't find Stan. " _ Shit _ ," he breathes all at once and clambers into a crouchy-standing position before taking off, unable to wait for Bill or Eddie or any of them because  _ fuck,  _ he left Stan alone when he said he would  _ protect  _ him, when he told Stan to stay with him, and all he can see is Stan lying in his own blood. He takes off running, his flashlight beam bouncing around wildly in his hand, and he shouts, "STANLEY!" as loudly as he can. He hears nothing. 

" _ Fuck  _ fuck fuck fuck fuck," Richie hisses, and he whirls around wildly, in some dark and wet passage of the sewers where he can't see Stan and he can't see the rest of his friends. "Stanley, where the  _ fuck  _ are you?" he bellows. " _ Stan _ !" Behind him, he hears his friends, shouting his name and Stanley's name, but he can't turn around because he has to find Stan, he has to find him, he said he'd keep him safe and he can't let him die again, he  _ can't _ … 

He shouts Stan's name again, and hears him somewhere, screaming, and so he takes off after that, his heart thudding so hard he feels like it's about to bust out of his chest. Thinking,  _ Fuck, fuck, Stanley, I'm so sorry.  _

He turns a corner and comes to a door. He pushes it open, throwing all his weight into it, and enters a room with some weird circle thing in the middle, and sees a flashlight on the floor. He runs towards that, his flashlight bouncing that way, and oh _fuck._ Fuck, there's Stan. There's Stan, lying on the ground, his face hidden in the gaping jaws of a woman. A woman with a messed up face, just like Stan said. 

Rage shoots frantically through Richie and he shouts, " _ Hey! _ " He kicks the ground and sends nasty water splashing towards them. The woman lifts her head, still hunching over Stanley, who's bleeding from the face, who isn't  _ moving… _

"Get the fuck away from him!" Richie screams, and he's running at the woman—no, at  _ It _ —ready to throw it off, ready to fucking  _ murder  _ it. But the woman, still crouching over Stanley, just smiles. Smiles like she's mocking him, smiles like Fake Adult Eddie had in Neibolt and like the clown always does in his dreams, and Richie comes to a skidding stop just as It unhinges its jaw. Just as its mouth opens, unnaturally wide with a million teeth, just as light pours out, and Richie wants to look away but he can't. He can't look away, and the woman looks right at him, the light swirling as three dots, and Richie is blinded by the lights in his eyes. The last thing he hears is his friends screaming. Screaming as kids—and screaming again, as adults. 

\---

It feels like the dreams, but worse. More intense. It's like looking into a freezing sun, the light burning his eyes but the rest of him is  _ freezing  _ cold. It's like something slicing into his brain, something's pulling at him from all sides. It's like falling,  _ actually  _ falling, the tug of gravity in his gut. And it's all  _ real _ , Richie absolutely knows that for sure: that it is real, that he's experiencing all of this, and he can't do anything to stop any of it. He feels like he's gonna fucking die.

He sees himself and his friends in a field again, and Bill's telling them to swear to come back if It comes back, and then he's slicing their palms, and Richie can feel the fucking  _ sting _ , it's all real, it's all real. He takes Eddie's hand and smears blood around his cast, is surprised when Eddie holds on just as tight.

It moves faster, after that. He's fourteen and goofing around in study hall, noisily writing notes back and forth and playing hangman and tic-tac-toe til the librarian glares at them. He's fifteen and taking swigs of beer with Eddie until they're both giggling madly on the back porch, and then they're lying around in Eddie's bed all the next day with pounding headaches. He's seventeen and scribbling over a horrible word someone's written on his locker, refusing to let anyone, even his friends, see it. He's eighteen and lying out under the stars with his friends and thinking,  _ I can't fucking wait to leave, but I don't want to leave all of you.  _ He's twenty and kissing a guy for the first time, only after checking three times that the bedroom door is locked. He's twenty-five and telling horrible jokes. He's twenty-eight and moving his parents out of Derry; he's going for a drink with Mike, who seems oddly relieved that he  _ remembers _ ; he's promising to call Mike or write him or something, thinking,  _ Jesus Christ, I need to catch up with everyone, where did they all end up, I should call them up, I wonder what Eddie— _ and then he's forgetting it all as soon as he drives the U-Haul over the town limits. He's thirty-one and doing comedy in bars. He's thirty-two and he's in love and no one knows about it but them, everyone thinks that the two of them are roommates. He's thirty-four and he's on TV, late at night, telling jokes that aren't his. He's thirty-five and his heart has been broken. He's thirty-eight and he's a hit, he's touring, he's headlining instead of opening for others. He's thirty-nine and people can parrot jokes he didn't write back at him, call him Trashmouth on the street, but he doesn't know why that aches so much.

He's forty and he's gasping over a railing, bile in his throat, and he's remembering it all: Bill, Ben, Bev, Mike, Stan, Eddie. He's remembering Derry, remembering summers playing outside til dark and sleepovers where they stayed up til dawn and the quarry and the clubhouse and the farm. Remembers how for most of his childhood, he was so in love with his best friend that it  _ hurt.  _ Remembers, and doesn't know how he ever could've forgotten. 

And then he's in the hallway outside Stan's bathroom, and Adult Stan has his hand on the doorknob. And Richie hears a woman's voice down the hall, calling, "Honey, when you're done with your bath, do you want to get started on packing?" And Stan makes a strangled sound in the pit of his throat, and Richie hopes he might stop, but he replies, "Okay," anyways in a choked voice, and keeps opening the door. 

Richie makes a strangled sound of his own because he  _ can't,  _ he can't watch this again, and shoves the door closed, and it actually  _ moves _ . He can't process that, though, because he's already talking at a rapid speed, practically pleading, babbling, saying, "Stanley, stop, okay, please stop, you don't need to do this, okay?  _ Please _ don't do this, you don't have to go back, I  _ promise _ you don't have to go back."

Stan's face has gone sheet-white, like he's seen a ghost, and Richie thinks he might can see him, so he grabs Adult Stan's sleeve and tugs, blurting, "It's me, it's Richie. I didn't mean to leave you, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. But you… you don't have to go back, Stan. W-we're gonna fix it now." But when Richie says that, he realizes two things: that he isn't sure  _ how  _ to fix it, and he isn't sure when  _ now _ is. It feels like a thousand years have passed. 

Stan opens his mouth, but he isn't the one who says Richie's name. It's Bev. Richie whirls, expecting to see Adult Bev, but it isn't her; it's  _ his  _ Bev, hair cut short, knees skinned under her dress, eyes red like she's been crying. "Richie?" she says again, and then they're moving again, and Richie can't find her. 

They're in the restaurant and fortune cookies are exploding, they're in the parking lot and Stan is dead, they're in some hotel somewhere and Bev is explaining how she's seen them all die. They're in the clubhouse, they're in the Barrens, he's in the park alone and the clown is singing dementedly about his dirty little secret. He's running away, he's in Stan's synagogue, he's swinging an axe at Henry Bowers's head, and Bev is shouting, " _ Richie! _ " and yanking at his arm. 

He's spinning and he sees her, standing in front of him in the lights. She looks terrified. "We're coming for you, Bevvie," he says, even though it sounds ridiculous when he says it. "We're gonna get you out, and we're gonna kill the clown."

"Richie," says Beverly, her voice breaking, "where  _ are  _ we?"

"We're in the Deadlights," Richie says, and he knows it's true, even though he doesn't know how. He thinks Bev might've told him that a long time ago. 

And they're spinning again, they're in the house and Spider-Head Stan is trying to eat him, they're in the sewers and he's telling Eddie that he's braver than he thinks. Bev is being pulled underwater, they're holding hands and chanting that  _ Turn light into dark  _ shit, the balloon is popping and they're scattering. And he and Eddie face three doors. And he goes back to save Mike. And he gets caught in the Deadlights again. Adult Him hangs in the air, caught in the lit mouth of the beast, three swirling dots sliding down to meet him. 

And Richie's shouting something, something like  _ No,  _ and  _ Don't,  _ and  _ You motherfucking dumbass,  _ and  _ Eds please, please don't save me.  _ He's screaming it as loud as he can. But Eddie throws the thing anyway, and Adult Him falls like a missile. And Richie is running, running as fast as he fucking can, scrambling over rocks and shouting, "Get the fuck out of the way! Get the  _ fuck  _ out of the way, Eddie,  _ please _ !" But Eddie's leaning over Adult Him, talking to him, touching his face, and Richie can't get there in time. 

He shuts his eyes before, but he still hears it. He still hears himself screaming. Can hear his friends screaming. Can hear both Bevs—his Bev and the adult one—screaming. He's crying, and no matter how many times he thinks,  _ It's not real, Eddie's just fine, he's with the others behind me and it's fine _ , he doesn't believe it, because it  _ is  _ real, he's  _ right here.  _

He hears Eddie land, from where the claw throws him, and he takes off running. He scrambles over rock and pushes through murky water (greywater) and he somehow manages to reach Eddie before any of the rest of them, he doesn't know how. He's crying like a fucking baby and babbling all over again, saying, "Eddie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I was gonna save you, we were both gonna save you, I'm so fucking stupid."

Eddie's face is white and clenched with pain, blood on his mouth like Richie's seen a thousand fucking times. But he's actually  _ looking _ at Richie, like Stan had, like Bev had such a long time ago. He says, in a soft, pained voice, " _ Richie _ ?"

"I let you die." Richie's sobbing now. "Oh my god, I let you both die. I-I said I'd protect you and Stan, I  _ promised,  _ and I let you both die…"

"Richie, no..." Eddie says, his face full of confusion, but Richie doesn't know why he's confused because of course he's here, he wouldn't be anywhere else. "No, no, it wasn't—" 

But he chokes, mid-sentence, blood dribbling over his bottom lip, and Richie's gonna fucking throw up. "I'm so sorry, Eds," he bites out, and he reaches out and takes Eddie's hand where it's smeared with blood. "I-I-I'm so fucking sorry I let it happen this way."

Eddie's crying too, looking at him like he can't believe he's saying this, and Richie shouldn't but he shuts his eyes because he can't look at this anymore. A small part of him insists,  _ It's okay, Eddie's alive, he's fine, he just broke his arm, _ but Richie doesn't know how that could possibly be true, it makes no sense. 

And then he hears a voice behind him—a  _ familiar  _ voice. It says, "It won't happen this way."

Richie opens his eyes and scrambles to turn around, to find the source of the voice. But behind him, he just finds  _ himself.  _ Adult Him, looking right at him like he can see him this time, like he can see him—Adult Him is crying, too. 

Richie sniffles and wipes his eyes. "W-what—what the  _ fuck. _ "

"I'm  _ sorry, _ " Adult Him says, and he kneels in front of Richie like Richie's a little kid or something. "I-I'm sorry I did all this to you. I'm sorry you had to see this. I just… I just wanted things to happen differently. I wanted to change what happened."

"Stan and Eddie," Richie says. It's not a question. Adult Him nods, his eyes sad. 

"T-they're gone," Richie says, feeling like he's gonna bust out crying all over again. He looks over his shoulder but Eddie's disappeared. They're not in the cave anymore. They're somewhere else. He turns back to Adult Him, scrubbing at his face. "I let them die."

"No," Adult Him says quickly. His face contorts, like it's hard to say, but he says it anyway. "No, you didn't. It wasn't you."

"It  _ was _ ," Richie snaps insistently. "I-I told them I'd protect them…"

"You didn't let them die, and they aren't gone," says Adult Richie. He reaches out and puts his hands on Richie's shoulders, looks him in the eye. "It's not over," he says softly. "It doesn't have to end this way."

Richie opens his mouth to ask what that means, but the lights are pulling him away before he can, the lights are everywhere. Lights and—somewhere, dimly—a turtle. 

He's spinning again, he sees his Bev and he sees Adult Bev, kneeling in front of her like Adult Him had, taking her hands. He sees himself pressing a jacket to Eddie's wounds and he sees Bill looking up at his younger self, and he sees Bev pulling Ben out of a mass of dirt, and he sees Mike crying. He sees the four of them looking up at the clown as it looms over them, laughing; he sees realization flicker over their faces, as they figure out what they have to do.

"Richie," someone says beside him, and it's Bev, his Bev, and he reaches for her hand, and she seizes it immediately, holding on tight. She's crying, too, and he doesn't let go of her hand. 

"Bevvie," he says, turning to look at her, "I think this next part is important."

And so they watch as their adult selves, minus Eddie and Stan, crowd around the clown. They watch what they do, and they watch the clown shrink, and they watch themselves surround it, and Richie thinks that the clown is so much bigger than them, but they've made it small. They've made it smaller than them as adults, and even them as they are now, as kids. Make it small so they can kill it.

He watches as Mike reaches into the pit of the clown's chest and pulls out its heart; he watches as they crush it together, their hands piling on top. And he understands what they have to do. 

He's spinning again before he can stop it, the lights blinding the shit out of him, and he hears Bev say his name but it's too late, his hand is torn out of hers before he can answer her and it's the lights, the Deadlights, they're everywhere, they're surrounding him, but he thinks they might be letting go… 

\---

Someone's saying his name loudly, practically shouting it; someone's slapping the side of his face gently. It's more than one person, actually, more than one voice; it’s all of his friends saying his name with concern, proddingly, like they’re trying to wake him up. Someone’s holding his hand.

Richie opens his eyes and finds the world gray and fuzzy, like he’s looking at it through the holes in one of his mom’s afghans, to the point where he has to blink a bunch to clear up his sight. He’s slowly remembering where he is. It’s 1989, and he is alive, his friends are alive, Stan and Eddie are alive and—if he’s interpreting the fucking Deadlights right—Bev is alive. He’s kind of got a headache, but he feels mostly okay, and it’s dark wherever he is, but his vision adjusts gradually—to be fair, the flashlights help. 

His friends are crowded around him, Ben and Mike and Stan—Stan, who’s tucked under Mike’s arm; whose face is bleeding from the bite marks in a way that Richie immediately recognizes from what he saw at the dam nearly two months ago; who looks like he’s been crying, but he’s  _ okay _ . They are leaning over him, and so is Eddie. Eddie, who Richie assumes is responsible for the face slapping; Eddie, who is not bleeding out; Eddie, who is the one holding Richie’s hand and who looks mildly horrified, whose face is streaked with something like tear tracks, like he's been crying. Richie relaxes immediately at seeing them all there, okay and whole and alive and still kids. It's not too late.  _ It doesn’t have to end this way, _ Adult Him had said in the Deadlights, and Richie intends to make sure it doesn’t. 

Ben speaks first, saying, “Richie? A-are you okay?”

Richie lifts his free hand to rub at his forehead and says, possibly inappropriately, “Well, that was a hell of a fucking drug trip.” 

And then he jerks upwards and wraps his arms hard around Eddie and Stan both. Just to make sure they’re there. Stan’s a little stiff, sniffling against his shoulder, but Eddie hugs him back just as tightly, gripping the back of Richie's shirt. Richie only lingers for a second before pulling back and embracing Mike and Ben in turn, because yeah, he’s really glad to see them both here, too. 

“Are you okay? What  _ happened _ ?” Eddie says, maybe a little sternly, maybe a little frantic, grabbing Richie's sleeve as he pulls away. 

“You were… floating,” Mike adds, sounding completely dumbfounded. “You were looking at It and your eyes were all white. Eddie threw his flashlight and It went away but… you didn't come right down and it took you a minute to come out. We thought…"

“The Deadlights,” Richie says simply, remembering Adult Him in the jaws of It, remembering the lights swirling down. It was trying to kill him the same way now as it would've then, but Its done exactly the opposite, It has given him a way out. He and Bev will have to compare notes later. "It was the Deadlights." 

He looks over at Eddie, who’s got an expression like he remembers what Richie said last night, about the Deadlights; he tips his head questioningly at Richie, his hand tightening on Richie's sleeve, and Richie just nods. 

“W-what are the Deadlights?” Ben asks. 

“Whatever  _ that  _ was, I dunno. It’s not important.” Richie stands up, wobbly on his legs, and says, “We need to find Bev. I know how to kill it.” 

“You know how to—” Mike begins questioningly, and Eddie chimes in, wrapping his hand more fully around Richie’s arm either in a grab for attention or an attempt at steadying him as he stands. “You  _ saw _ it? In there, you saw it?” Eddie presses, his eyes wild. “How do you know it was real?” 

“I just know,” Richie says, leaning into Eddie a little for balance. “Bev’s alive, she’s okay, we just need to find her and we need to end this.” 

Ben looks incredibly relieved at this and nods, reaching out to help up Stan, who seems incredibly quiet and subdued. “We need to hurry,” says Mike. “We can’t find Bill, either.”

Richie, who feels simultaneous rushes of panic and guilt (over somehow having not noticed Bill was gone until now), says, “ _ Fuck _ ,” with feeling. He’s mostly forgiven Bill for the whole ordeal, but as one of exactly three people in the know on this shit, he is extremely disappointed in Bill for fucking vanishing. “Where the fuck did he go?” 

“We don’t know,” Mike says, a hard edge of panic in his voice. “We—we had gotten you down and were trying to wake you up, and then the next thing we knew, he was gone.” 

“Shit,” Richie hisses as they start moving again, Mike and Ben holding flashlights, Ben at Stan’s side and Eddie still supporting Richie even though he feels much steadier now. He was kind of counting on Bill to support his crazy clown-killing plan.

“Rich, what did you see, how do we kill it?” Eddie says in a loud whisper. 

Richie inwardly grimaces, because he knows this is gonna be even harder to take than the I’ve-seen-us-all-as-grownups-and-Stan-and-Eddie-die explanation. “We have to make it small,” he says. “We… we’ve gotta Henry Bowers it to death.”

Stan finally speaks in reply to that, his voice small and tear-choked and indignant. “What the fuck does  _ that  _ mean?” Mike and Ben both look slightly nauseous at that as well; yeah, okay, it’s not his best explanation, especially not for them. But to be fair, the Deadlights definitely fried his brain a little, and he just ingested about twenty-seven years of his life at once, saw two of his best friends in the world die, and talked to an older version of himself and his friends.

“We… Bowers is a bully, we  _ bully _ the thing to death,” he says. Amid sounds of disbelief, he adds, “I  _ know _ , I know it sounds insane, and that’s because it is, but I swear to god, guys, trust me. We need to bully the thing to death and it’ll shrink down, and then we have to pull Its heart out and crush it, and it’ll die.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” says Stan with disgust.

“ _ That’s _ how we kill this thing?” Mike adds, not in disgust, but maybe in disbelief.

“I think he’s right, guys,” Eddie says, and Richie has never been more grateful that Eds made him spill his beans than in this moment. “I think we need to trust him on this. And, I mean, we don’t have any other ideas, right?” Richie nods pointedly even though it hurts like hell in his throbbing brain, shooting Eddie grateful looks. He's glad that Eddie's here to wordlessly support this crazy shit, as glad as he is that—holy  _ fuck,  _ Eddie threw a flashlight at a demon alien for him, Eddie got him out of the Deadlights  _ again  _ (or for the first time, whatever).

“We’ll figure it out,” Ben says, his voice harder than Richie’s ever heard it with worry. “We need to find Bev. Her and Bill both.” 

Fucking right on that one, Richie thinks, and bellows, “BILL!” at the top of his lungs, his friends shouting right alongside him. He’s gonna fucking strangle that kid, running off when he knows that Richie is trying to keep them all  _ alive _ . A thought occurs to him, then, that he instantly wants to push back down, which is that if the clown can see his dreams—or the Deadlights, or whatever—then it might know that he’s onto it. That he knows how to kill it. He might be trying even harder to kill him now. “Bill, fucking  _ get out here! _ ” he shouts at the top of his lungs, Eddie’s fingers bearing anxiously into his side, but of course, there’s no answer. 

The sewers seem to go on forever, a twisting maze of dark and wet, stinking halls that Richie thinks would turn  _ anyone _ into Eddie. A part of them seems almost familiar, probably because in the Deadlights, he walked them for what seems like a million times, but it doesn’t make them make any more sense. Richie knows where they’re trying to get, to the cistern, but he has absolutely no fucking idea how to get there. They’re all mostly silent aside from shouting for Bill and Bev, the only other sounds being the splash of their shoes and the faint sniffling of Stan, still on the verge of tears. At one point, Eddie trips, almost dragging Richie down with him, and a bunch of rotting heads and bodies rise out of the water, making Richie’s pounding head swim with nausea. He thinks of the Deadlights again, of how when they thought they had beaten the clown the first time, how all the missing kids came floating down. He hopes that happens this time, but he genuinely isn’t sure. He can’t stop looking away from Stan and Eddie, trying to forget how they looked when they were dying; he can’t stop looking at Ben and Mike and seeing them as adults. Can’t stop hearing his Adult Self saying,  _ It doesn’t have to end like this. _

God, he hopes it won’t end like that. He knows that they could do it then; he’s trying to believe with everything in him that they can do it now. 

They all keep moving until something like daylight appears ahead. Dimmed daylight and, in the distance, Beverly hanging unattached in the air. Floating. 

Richie swallows hard and moves quickly with the rest of them, pushing out of the tunnel and into an open space. The cistern. They’re all calling Bev’s name, but he already knows that she can’t hear them. 

“S-she looks like Richie did,” Eddie says. “Back there, when he was out of it.”

“I saw her in there,” Richie says, craning his neck to look up at her. Her eyes are glazed white, unseeing. “I-I think she’s still in there. In the Deadlights." 

“Guys,” Eddie says in a choked horrified voice, “are those…” 

“The missing kids,” Stan says. “Floating.”

Richie looks and sees what he already knew was here: all the kids from his town, all the ones they’ve lost, floating around a pile of weird clown junk. He’s seen them come down, he knows they won’t be up there forever—but he also knows that there’s no real way to bring them back. 

He looks back at Bev, trying not to remember what’s inside and failing. He has a pretty damn good idea of what she’s seeing, and he knows he definitely, definitely never wants to see it again. How the fuck did Adult Him do it? He's got to get her out of there, that place—while, yes, useful, sure—is a fucking nightmare.

“Just let me grab her,” Richie says out loud, and Ben bodily climbs towards her, mostly being boosted by Mike. They pull her to the ground as gently as they can, the three of them steadying her as she goes, and Ben catches her lolling head as she stands stiff and unseeing. It’s creepy as fuck, seeing Bev like that, and Richie’s stomach rolls predictably as he wonders if that what he looked like, in there.

“Bev,” Ben says, shaking her gently. “Beverly! Why isn't she waking up?” His voice rises in hysteria as he turns back towards them frantically, his eyes full of pleading. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Ben, it took Richie a minute, too…” Mike tries, and Richie tries to chime in with, “She’s okay…” but Ben isn’t hearing any of that. Bev’s slumping forward, frighteningly limp, and Ben shakes her a little again, pleading with her to wake up. “Come on!” he says, and lurches forward to embrace her. Richie’s seen a lot, but he’s still not entirely sure how this one ends—how much of this happened before and how much of this is new territory; he looks over at Eddie questioningly and Eddie shakes his head a little, like he’s saying that he came out of this faster. Bev’s still stiff, her eyes are still blank.

Ben draws back, suddenly, determination hard in his eyes, and then he’s leaning in again, abruptly, and kissing her. The others make noises of surprise or disgust, and Richie instinctively makes them, too, but they’re mostly inauthentic; he’s thinking about Ben and Bev as adults someday, sprawled out on a couch, being disgustingly mushy with each other. 

For a second, it seems like it hasn’t worked. But then Bev takes a sharp, gasping breath and jerks back, her eyes going clear as she looks around with them. Richie breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Bev?” Ben asks in a small voice.

"January embers," Bev says, her voice full of an understanding that the rest of them can't place. 

"My heart burns there, too," Ben says, almost sheepishly, and he sounds so relieved, on more levels than just  _ Hey, Bev’s alive _ . Richie can understand that.

Seriously, though, he has no idea what the fuck they’re spouting off, but he thinks it’s hilarious, especially since he knows that one day they might have a glass house and a dog and live in Nebraska and wear obnoxious rings. “Jesus fuck,” he says, probably too cheerfully, and leans in to sling his arms around their necks. Mike and Stan crowd in, too, embracing them all, and they stay knotted together for a moment, right there in the place they’re all supposed to come back to, again and again. 

When they draw back, Bev catches Richie’s arm, looks him straight in the eye and says, “You saw it, too.” 

Richie’s so relieved to hear that, to hear the  _ understanding  _ in her voice, that he almost laughs. “Welcome to the crazy train, Marsh,” he says, patting her shoulder. “You really get on some cryptic bullshit as an adult.” 

“What the fuck?” Stan says somewhere behind him, but Bev seems to understand. She looks like she would be laughing, maybe, if they were somewhere else. “You know how—” she starts.

“—to kill it,” Richie finishes. “Yeah, I filled these fuckheads in. Can you fucking believe this shit?”

Bev shakes her head but she seems distracted, suddenly, taking all of them in, her eyes sliding over the group. “Where’s Bill?” she asks, and it’s only then that Richie realizes that Eddie’s walked away from them, is standing over to the side. It’s only then that he hears voices, faintly, on the other side of the rubble. Bill’s voice, he thinks, and another one, one he hasn’t heard in almost a year. 

Eddie looks over his shoulder and motions them over; the six of them round the pile of rubble in time to find Bill and Georgie. Georgie Denbrough, looking smaller than he’s ever looked in his life, one of his arms ending abruptly somewhere above the elbow and his face smeared with tears. He’s asking Bill to take him home, and Richie knows, he  _ knows _ it can’t be real, but he wants it to be. He wants it to be for Bill, for poor fucking Georgie who died alone somewhere, afraid and cold and painfully. He’s thinking about how quiet Bill’s been since last fall, how subdued; he’s thinking about Bill sobbing into Eddie’s tuxedo jacket in that pantry and saying,  _ It’s my f-f-fault, it’s all m-m-m-my fault he’s gone, _ and he wants to take the kid out of here, he wants to see Bill be happy again, he wants it to be him.

“I wanna go home,” Georgie says, and he’s really crying now, and Richie can hear Bill crying, too. “I miss you, I wanna be with Mom and Dad.” Richie’s trying to find the words to tell Bill that it’s not real, it  _ can’t _ be real, but he can’t speak. Can’t tell Bill that his brother’s dead again, he can't do that again.

“I want more than anything for you to be home,” Bill chokes out, moving towards the thing that looks like his brother. “With Mom and Dad… I miss you so much.”

“I love you, Billy,” says the Georgie-thing.

“I love you too,” says Bill, and Richie’s wondering for a second if they’ve lost him. But then he’s moving too fast, he’s yanking out Mike’s weird gun and putting it to It’s forehead. “But you're not Georgie,” he says, and pulls the trigger. 

Richie recoils in shock, feeling like he could throw up; it’s not real, he knows it’s not real, he knows that wasn’t Georgie anymore than the things that pretended to be Eddie and Stan in Neibolt, but it  _ looks  _ real. For a second, it just looks like an eight-year-old kid with a bolt in his forehead. There’s a long terrifying moment where it  _ feels  _ real. 

And then the fake Georgie starts writhing wildly on the ground, and Richie feels an odd and fucked-up sense of relief. 

It’s making odd, growly sounds, screaming in Georgie’s voice, its shoes turning to white clown shoes, its severed arm growing a new one. Its limbs are springing out, its face is turning to that of the clown’s, and Bill whirls to look straight at Richie with wide eyes, shouting, “Richie, what do we do?”

The clown rocks to its feet, inches away from Bill, and Stan and Ben are screaming for Bill to kill it. Eddie’s looking at Richie with those same wide, questioning eyes, and Richie whirls to look at Bev, who seems as lost as he is. He remembers what they were saying in the Deadlights, and he shouts, “It’s just a clown, it’s just a stupid clown!” but it falls flat, they aren’t listening, Bill doesn’t know what to do. 

Bill turns back to the clown and grabs for Mike’s gun amid shouts for him to kill it.  _ That won’t work, _ Richie thinks in a panic, and he’s about to scream another ridiculous insult, but Mike’s saying, “It’s not loaded,” and he can’t think. He turns back to Bev, who’s looking between Bill and Richie in a panic, and says, “Bev, we have to do it, we have to do it now!” But the others—even Eddie now, his voice high in a panic—are still screaming for Bill to shoot it. “It’s just a clown, just a clown!” Richie shouts, but he sounds pathetic, he sounds crazy, he’s thinking,  _ Where the fuck are Adult Us when we need them? _

“Hey, it's not loaded!” Mike is shouting, even as Bill yanks the weird gun up and shoots Pennywise straight through the forehead. 

There’s nothing there, but the clown shakes wildly all over again, its white-makeuped face molting. “Bill, it didn’t work, it didn’t work!” Richie shouts, just as the clown contorts backwards and roars like a freight train. 

It lunges forward and they all yank back, but Bill isn’t fast enough, he’s falling backwards on the ground and the clown’s leaning over him. Someone shouts, “Bill, watch out!” as the clown leans over him. Richie weaves back and then back forward towards Bill, shouting his name.

“Leave him alone!” Bev shouts, surging forward to stab the clown, but it grabs her spike before she can do anything, Ben shouting her name somewhere. Mike goes to hit the clown, and Richie yells his name along with Stan, but the clown throws Mike back like a rag doll and he goes flying. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Richie shouts, wishing desperately that they could’ve figured this shit out before this moment, and lunges towards the clown with the rest of them, jumping on its back and trying to pry it off Bill. But the clown throws Stanley off, then him, and Richie hits the gravely ground hard, rolling over and nearly into Eddie. Eddie helps him up, half-yelling in his ear, “This isn’t it, Rich, this isn’t how you said we kill it!” But it doesn’t matter, because the clown’s scrambled away, and its dragged Bill along, and Richie wants to scream. 

Its got Bill like a hostage, held in a headlock in front of it, its gloved hand clutching Bill’s jaw, and Richie’s seen this before. The clown grabs Bill and they beat the shit out of it and then they call that good enough and peace out cause they think they’ve done it. He knows exactly what they need to do, but he can’t shove his brain in the right place, can’t do anything but stand there and helplessly stare at Bill while he shouts his name like the rest of them. 

“No, don't,” Bev says helplessly. “Let him go!”

“No,” the clown intones in its stupid fucking voice. “I'll take him. I'll take  _ all  _ of you! And I'll feast on your flesh as I feed on your fear.” The thing holds up a dramatic finger like,  _ Wait a second. _ “ _ Or _ ,” he says smugly, “you'll just leave us be. I'm taking him, only him. And then I'll have my long rest and you will all live to grow old, and thrive, and lead  _ happy _ lives until old age takes you back to the weeds.” He smiles smugly, straight at Richie. “You won’t have to come back in twenty-seven years,” he says invitingly. “Eddie and Stanley won’t have to sacrifice their  _ lives  _ for this silly little thing.” Richie hears Eddie’s sharp breath, feels his fingers bite into his arms; he hears Stan gasping unevenly somewhere behind him. “You won’t have to forget, and you can  _ leave _ this place forever,” the clown says in a happy little singsong, and Richie suddenly can’t breathe.

“ _ Leave, _ ” Bill chokes out from where the clown’s got him by the neck. “I'm the one who dragged you all into this. I'm s-s-s-s—I'm s-s-sorry.”

“S-s-s-s-sorry,” the clown mimics, laughing like a maniac. 

Bill meets eyes with Richie, who immediately shakes his head: This isn’t how this was supposed to go! This isn't how this was supposed to go and he doesn't know what to do but he  _ won't  _ leave Bill behind. 

But Bill’s expression hardens, the exact same way it did when Richie told him, the first time, about Eddie and Stan.  _ T-t-t-they can’t, _ he’d said.  _ Y-y-you’re lying.  _ He'd been horrified, he'd been  _ angry _ , and Richie at the time had thought that was good because he'd hoped that it meant Bill would help him stop all this. Do anything to stop it all _.  _

“ _ Go _ !” he says now, nearly shouting. “Go and don’t come back. L-l-let this end now, with me.”

No one says anything. Eddie’s breathing has gone wheezy, his hand clutching to Richie’s arm too hard; Richie looks back at Stan, who looks like he’s going to pass out. “Guys,” Bev says, her voice full of astonishment, “we  _ can’t _ !” She looks at Richie, like Eddie’s looking at Richie, like they’re wanting him to tell them, all of them, what to do.

Richie is absolutely not a leader. He’s no Bill, he’s no Adult Mike, and he doesn’t want people looking to him for answers. But he knows what they have to do now. There’s no fucking question about it.

“There’s no fucking way,” he tells the clown, looking at it now. Looking it straight in its stupid glowy eyes. “We’re not leaving him, you fucking bitch-clown. We wouldn’t do that. It’s like Eddie said:  _ all _ of us make it out. All seven of us.” 

Bill’s staring at him like he’s crazy, and the clown’s laughing and laughing, but Richie doesn’t care. He pulls his arm out of Eddie’s grasp and steps closer, trying his best not to be afraid.  _ I made him feel small, _ Adult Eddie had said. _ You’re just a clown, _ Adult Mike had said. He thinks about their words over and over again. “You’re just offering this cause you’re scared,” he tells the clown, “cause you  _ know _ that we know how to kill you. We do it in twenty-seven years, together, and we can do it now."

The clown closes his hand hard over Bill, leaving him gasping for air, and Richie tenses with anger but he doesn’t stop. “We’re going to fucking kill you!” he tells it, his voice hard with the anger of seeing his friends die a dozen times because of It. “We’re gonna be able to do it because you’re just a fucking cl—”

Pennywise roars again. Roars like he’s got a million lions backing him, and hurls Bill to the side so that he slams into the pile of rubble. Richie shouts his name with the rest of them, but his eyes are torn away from Bill back to the stupid clown because its  _ growing _ . Growing bigger, growing more limbs, towering over him, and—no no no no no, it’s the fucking  _ spider _ . It’s the spider-clown, eight legs tumbling from its rapidly growing body—growing  _ way  _ way too big for them to have a fucking chance at—and growing spikes at the end. Long spiky claws that someday will impale his best friend and throw him around like a ragdoll. Huge spiky claws that can do it  _ today _ . The ground rumbles as the clown-spider grows to the size of a mega-truck, towering over Richie like a mountain, growing instead of shrinking. 

Three things happen before everything goes to shit. First, out of the corner of his eye, Richie sees Bill stand, a little unsteadily but still whole and still standing. Second, all his friends collectively start shouting at him to run away—all of them, he thinks, their voices are melding together but it sounds like a lot; Stanley sounds like he thinks Richie is fucking stupid for having not run away yet, and Bill is stuttering like crazy but the message is coming across, and Eddie’s voice is so high and frantic he sounds like a tea kettle.

Third, unsure if he’s gonna cry or laugh like a crazy person, Richie shouts, “You’re _ motherfucking kidding _ me!” and grabs for the spike that Bev had dropped a minute ago.

A spikeless tentacle darts out like a fucking snake and grabs Richie, coiling around him and yanking him up in the air— _ like Adult Mike, like it’d done for Adult Mike, _ Richie remembers; this is how Adult Him got in the Deadlights, getting Adult Mike out of this. But then the clown is squeezing him and it hurts too much to think rationally. 

“You’re a clown,” he bites out in furious pain, “you’re just a stupid fucking clown!” But it’s not working, it’s not working, they should’ve fucking talked about this! Its looming over him with its giant teeth and oh god, oh god, he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die. At least they’ve got Bev, at least she can help them get out of here, at least  _ they’ll _ all live, but  _ oh fucking god _ , he’s gonna go missing, he’s gonna die, he's gonna die.

“You thought you could save them?” the clown coos, lifting him up while Richie kicks helplessly. “You couldn’t save them then! Why could you save them now?”

“Your breath smells like rotting corpses, you stupid fucker!” Richie shouts, and he means to shout more, but it turns into squeaks as the clown squeezes him again. His friends are still shouting somewhere, screaming for the clown to let him go. A shower of pebbles hits the tentacle that’s got him, but the clown doesn’t move to let him go. It seems to only hold him tighter. 

“I gave you a chance to end it,” it says. “But you lost it. And you lost those extra twenty-seven years of life! Denied those extra years to your poor, poor friends. How does it feel, Richie?” It leans in even closer somehow while Richie struggles helplessly to no effect. “To know that your little dreams did nothing?” it says in a fake whisper that everyone can clearly hear. “To know that  _ you  _ and  _ your friends _ are going to die in the sewers today, alone?” 

And then it rears back its claw-spike-tentacle and lurches forward, sending it straight at his friends where they’re clustered together. At Bill, at Bev, at Mike, at Ben, at Stan, at  _ Eddie, _ all over again, and Richie screams. Screams because he can’t do anything, screams because he can’t watch his friends die again, struggles uselessly even though he knows he can't do anything. 

But it doesn’t land. The claw scrapes through rock, uselessly, because his friends scatter, run out of the way, pull each other back, and they don't get impaled, they're  _ okay.  _

The clown roars angrily, and Richie shakes so hard in its grasp that his glasses go flying off. He can’t see any of them. He thinks he might still be screaming. He’s thinking about them together all in the field someday, holding hands, about them in the cistern except for Stan. He’s wondering if it’s ever gonna happen, any of it, or if he fucked up like Adult Bev thought he would, if they're all gonna die. 

And then somewhere in the distant part of his mind, he hears Stanley shouting. Shouting at the top of his lungs, “Richie, Henry Bowers it! We’ve got to Henry Bowers it!”

“I am the Eater of Worlds!” the clown roars, shaking Richie all over again. 

“No, you’re not!” Richie shouts, and yeah, he’s probably the most helpless he’s ever been, and he’s probably gonna die, but god-fucking-damnit, he  _ means _ it. “You’re a clown, you’re just a stupid clown, you’re a  _ stupid motherfucking clown! _ ”

Somewhere down on the ground, he hears Bev join in. “You’re a fake!” she shouts, anger radiating from her voice. “You were blood in my sink, you’re nothing! We  _ scrubbed you off my floor _ !”

Richie’s getting shook again, but he thinks he hears Eddie shouting, too. “You’re a stupid mimic, you can't even do good impressions, you piece of fucking dogshit!"

Maybe Richie imagines it, but he thinks the clown’s grip loosens. And then, fuck, he knows it’s loosened, because he’s tumbling to the ground, he’s landing hard on one knee and screaming like hell. But he scrambles back on all fours and yells, “You do the shittiest Paul Bunyan I’ve  _ ever fucking seen _ !” 

He thinks the others are joining in—he hears Stan shout, "You're just a stupid creepy painting my dad found at a yard sale!" and Ben shout, "A headless boy!" and Mike shout, "An ugly fucking bird!" Somewhere, Bill screams, "You killed my brother, you piece of shit!" He can't see shit without his glasses, and he might be crazy, but he actually thinks the huge shape in front of him is shrinking. He scrambles back into a halfway standing position and yells, "How does it feel to get your ass kicked by  _ two  _ versions of us, you disgusting motherfucker?" Someone's hand comes down on his shoulder and Richie about shits himself, but it's just a blurry Eddie, shoving his glasses in his hands as he still screams at the clown, "You're a disease, you need to fucking rot!" The lenses are cracked, but Richie still shoves them on as he gets to his feet and joins the others. 

They're all screaming together, crowding around It as it shrinks. Bill screams, "Murderer!" Bev screams, "Coward!" Stan screams something about shoving its stupid flute up its ass. The clown's to the size it was a minute ago and still getting smaller. Richie presses in with the rest of them, still shouting, "Clown! Clown! Clown!" because it's what he saw them do before. It's mostly what the others are screaming, too. Maybe he hit his head, but he's seeing flashes of them as adults: Bev and Ben and Bill and Mike and himself. Eddie and Stan, too, he realizes, even though they weren't here; he's seeing them, too, fury all over their faces. Future-ghosts all over again. 

The clown's shriveling up, like spit on a hot pavement, and Richie grabs one of its spiky tentacles and rips it off, throwing it to the side with a blind anger. He's seen that thing go through his best friend one too many times, and it almost skewered them  _ all _ just now. Stan, for his part, is kicking the shit out of it, screaming, "Clown!" at the top of his lungs, blood smeared all over his face like warpaint. Bev has her spike again and she pokes at it furiously; Bill rips another tentacle off and throws it at the clown's face, shouting, "That was for Georgie!" 

The clown looks scared, a pathetic baby pancake on the stone, writhing around and wailing on the stone. Richie's glad; It  _ deserves _ to fucking die. They can hear its heart beating, can see it in its chest. 

Mike's still the one who reaches for it. Richie isn't sure if it's because of what he said earlier or just because it's  _ supposed  _ to happen that way, but he's glad it's him. The clown lunges forward and growls, making them all yank back in fear, but it doesn't last, it just falls pathetically back against the stone. It fumbles to try and push Mike away, but he keeps reaching anyway. He pulls it out anyway, beating in his hand, and they all fumble forward, piling their hands on it like they're vowing something. Richie's hand is sandwiched under Stan's and Eddie's, and he is  _ so _ , so glad they're here. 

The clown looks up at them sadly, their hands all over its disgusting, throbbing heart. "Look at you," it says, and Richie hears the echo of his reply, twenty-seven years later:  _ You're all grown up.  _

They squeeze and the heart crumbles in their hands. Goes all disgusting and mushy black between their fingers, emitting groans of disgust from most of them, but they don't let go. The clown wails as it dies, goes all black around the edges like it's rotting. The heart crumbles in the same way, and when they open their hands, the pieces float away, into the air, disintegrating. The clown floats away on the wind, crumbling before them, and Richie is  _ glad _ , so glad. 

"It's… it's over," Bev breathes as soon as it's quiet. "It's dead."

"It's dead?" Eddie reaches down to grip Richie's sleeve. "Rich? Is it dead?" 

They're all looking at him now, even Mike and Ben and Stan who have no idea what's going on. Richie's aching all over and he's got gross clown heart gunk on his hand and he thinks he's going to cry because it's over, it's really over. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, it's dead." 

His friends gasp out sighs of relief. Bill and Bev embrace. Mike and Ben lean on each other, breathing hard. Stan's eyes squeeze shut, blood drying on his forehead. Eddie's head falls against Richie's shoulder, and Richie leans right back, wrapping his arm around Eddie's shoulder. "I know what I'm doing for my summer experience essay," he says quietly. 

Eddie lifts his head, one hand still clutching Richie's sleeve, and says, "Guys, guys. The kids are floating down." Richie turns and sees them coming down all over again, just like he had seen in the Deadlights. He meets Bev's eyes as she lets go of Bill, and he can tell: she seems to recognize it, too. 

Richie's about to suggest they get the fuck out of here—he's remembering everything that's happened next, why his friends had to pry him away from Eddie (and remembering that he was forced to leave Eddie alone in the sewers makes him grab Eddie right back by the tail of his shirt)—but he suddenly sees Bill, drawing closer to Pennywise's pile of rubble. Specifically, walking towards a familiar slip of yellow rubber. Georgie. 

Richie lets go of Eddie and walks over to Bill where he's kneeling, where he's taking Georgie's slicker in his hands. The tag reads,  _ Georgie Denbrough, _ a confirmation of what Richie's known for months (although that doesn't make it hurt any less): Georgie is dead. 

Bill begins to weep softly as they crowd around him, holding the slicker gently. Richie crouches beside Bill, gingerly, and wraps his arms around him, resting his cheek on Bill's back.  _ I'm sorry,  _ he thinks, because he is, but he doesn't think he should say it, so he just clutches Bill tight as he sobs, burying his face in the coat. Their friends kneel around them, embracing Bill, too, the seven of them together. 

Richie doesn't move until the ground begins to shake, the ceiling starts to crumble, and he immediately knows. "We've gotta go," he says, letting go of Bill gently. "Bill, guys, we gotta go, it's coming down!"

Bev's eyes go wide with understanding and she reaches for Bill's hand, saying gently, "Bill, c'mon, we have to get out of here." Stan's already on his feet, whirling and looking for an exit, and Mike's helping Eddie up, and Richie whirls to nudge Ben up as the ceiling crumbles around them, rocks falling to the ground. He's remembering how he'd seen Ben dragging him out of here the first time, and remembering that it won't happen that way now because the clown is  _ dead  _ and they're all still alive, and he's shuffling Ben towards the exit and running like hell. 

They scramble out of the cistern and through the tunnel, pushing through the tiny spaces, clustering together as they go. Richie's knee and ribs are throbbing liks crazy but he won't slow down; he's trying to keep an eye on all of them and failing because they're all shoving together at the same time. Stan's easy, he's at the front, he's weaving through the sewers and scrambling up the rope first, but Richie keeps losing sight of Eddie. At one point, he begins to panic because he can't see Eddie and all he can hear is his adult self screaming Eddie's name, so he reaches out without even thinking and is beyond relieved to feel Eddie's fingers slipping through his. He holds on as tight as he can. 

He thinks they're safe once they've shimmied up the well but even  _ that _ is falling apart. Neibolt itself is falling apart, the stairs and floorboards crumbling, the walls ripping themselves open. They're all shouting and pushing their way through the front of the house, past the place where Eddie's arm snapped, past the place where Richie saw all their faces on a Missing poster. They sprint out into the sunlight and don't stop til they hit the street, collapsing in a clustered heap on the sun-hot pavement. 

Richie leans heavily into his friends and turns back to watch through dirty, cracked glasses lenses as the house crumbles, caves in on itself like it was never there. He's thinking of when he's seen this before, saw Ben and Mike holding him back from physically running back into the house for Eddie, remembering how the house crumbled just like this and it meant the clown was dead. Which means the clown is dead  _ now,  _ the clown is dead and they're alive and he did it, he actually did it, he's never going to have to leave Eddie behind in a crumbling house or hear about Stan's death through a muzzy phone speaker. They won't forget, they won't have to come back, it'll all be okay, they could actually stay friends this time, for real, and they aren't gonna die, none of them are gonna die. 

He's crying a little, he realizes suddenly, and shoves his glasses up to wipe at his grimy face. The others are pressed in around him like they had done for Bill, but he sniffles and waves it off because he is okay, he really is, no kidding. He watches the rubble of Neibolt and feels a sharp sense of relief. He wonders what all will go different, he wonders what will start to change. 

\---

They walk through town on their way home, for no other reason than maybe to see what's changed. Aside from the flurry of police and firefighters going the way they just went, it all looks the same. No one looks twice at a group of dirty and (in some cases) bleeding children walking their bikes down Main Street. The sun is warm on their backs. It's an oddly nice day. 

The seven of them keep walking, unspeaking, until Stan says, suddenly, "We look like  _ shit _ ." He's stopped in front of a store window, staring at his own reflection disapprovingly. So the rest of them stop, too, staring at themselves in the window. Ben and Mike make faint sounds of disgust, and Eddie says something about not being able to go home like this. Stan wipes at his face like he can make the dried blood go away. 

Richie just stares, because he's pretty damn sure he's not seeing what the others are seeing. He thinks he's the only one seeing it at  _ all _ , until Bev nudges him and mutters,"Richie." He nods:  _ I see it, too.  _

He sees their adult selves in the window, standing in a line, staring out at them. They're standing in the same way that Richie knows they're standing now: Ben and Bev and Bill and Stan and Eds and him and Mike. They look okay. They might even look _good._ Eddie and Stan are there and they're not bleeding and they're alive and with everybody and they might even look happy. 

Richie looks over the window again and again, taking them all in. Adult Mike looks happy, too, happier than Richie's ever seen him in the dreams. Ben and Bev are sort of leaning on each other; Richie thinks that if the adults can see them, too, that Adult Bev is probably more focused on Normal Bev, but he swears she smirks at him a little. He looks at Bill and Stan, Stan in his stupid old person sweater vests and Bill dressed all sleek and writer-y, whatever that means, both of them looking good and okay and whole. He looks at Eds, who's looking very New York (if Richie had to say that New York looked like anything) and who isn't bleeding out, isn't dead, and whose face is scrunched up like he's trying not to laugh. They're all okay, they're really okay. 

Richie bites back a smile and looks at his adult self, who isn't crying, who doesn't look half dead, who clearly hasn't grown out of what Eddie has deemed the "Horrendous Tacky Shirt" phase. Maybe it's just his nasty fucking glasses, but he thinks Adult Him is looking back at him. He looks like he's smiling. He looks happy, or proud, or some weird shit Richie won't analyze; all he knows is that it's good.

(Adult Him lifts his arm a little, and Richie sees that he's holding Eddie's hand in his; he looks away fast, like he's been burned, pretending that his heart isn't pounding like crazy, that he doesn't want to smile, that he isn't hoping that it's something it's probably not. He looks away and then looks back and doesn't look at their hands, but Adult Eddie and Adult Him are still looking at each other, still kind of smirking. They look okay.)

Richie watches the seven of them, their reflections, the future ghosts, these okay versions of them, until he hears Bill say, "R-R-Richie?" Then he looks and sees Bill watching him, his eyes wide and nervous, clutching Georgie's grimy slicker to his heart. "I-I-is it over?" he asks, and Richie can hear the hope in his voice. "Did we do it?"

He looks back at Bev, and she's looking back, the hints of a smile on her face. He has no idea how much she saw or how much she knows, but he knows she understands at least a little. He looks at the rest of his friends, watching him, dusty and dirty and exhausted and hopeful, too. He looks back at their adult selves, still together, all of them. All of them okay. And he lets himself hope that he's actually changed something, and changed it for the better. 

"You know, Big Bill," he says, "I think we did. I really think we did." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies if this climax turned out a little corny. fight scenes are not my strong suit. i wanted to kind of combine the climaxes from both movies but also give the whole clown killing thing a different edge, considering it's thirteen-year-olds here rather than forty-year-olds. (honestly, a good portion of this climax was motivated by my jokey thoughts on the chap. 2 climax: that it pretty easily could've happened in chap. 1 since thirteen-year-olds are pretty notoriously good at being mean and therefore could've bullied the clown to death pretty well. in the immortal words of john mulaney, "thirteen-year-olds are the meanest people in the world.")


	8. Chapter 8

Eddie goes home with him. 

It's not really a planned thing—they just walk home together at first, they live pretty close. Bill and Stan walk most of the way with them, too. But Richie figures it out when Eddie goes right past his street and keeps walking with Richie. He doesn't say anything, though, til they've reached his front porch and let their bikes drop on the lawn. That's when Eddie says, "Hey, Rich, you mind if I… stay here?" His face is a little red, his eyes shifted to the ground. "I can't go home yet, my mom will lose her shit again, and if I stay over here, I can tell her that's where I was all along. But I can go to Bill or Stan's if you want, or maybe Ben's, I think Bev went home with him but there's probably room for me, too…"

"Eds, hey, come on, of course you can fucking come in, what do you take me for?" Richie grabs his hand and tugs him up on the porch. "Don't go to Ben's, he and Bev are gonna be making out all night. Sloppy, sloppy making out."

"Bev likes Bill right now," Eddie points out. 

"Yeah, but I don't think she always will." Richie digs in his soggy pockets for his key and predictably finds nothing. He doesn't know if he lost it in the sewers or never even grabbed it in the first place. Ignoring a prodding look from Eddie, he just knocks instead. His parents are gone, their cars aren't there, but his sister's probably home. He knocks on the door and then looks back over his shoulder at Eddie. "Come in, Spaghetti, seriously. You reek, you can use the shower. I'll get you a trash bag for your cast."

Eddie rolls his eyes, although it feels a little muted—they're both exhausted. He nods, and Richie feels an instantaneous rush of relief. A huge part of him is unable to forget the sight of Eddie bleeding out in the Deadlights, the horrible sticky feeling of Eddie's blood on his palm. He could use the reminder that Eddie's still here, still alive, in case the dreams come back.

His sister opens the door, and her face screws up with confusion. "What the fuck happened to you?" she asks, and then her voice takes on a degree of awe. "Were you at that house that  _ collapsed _ on Neibolt?" she says in that conspiratory, pre-snitching voice. 

"None of your business," Richie says, shoving past her, faintly wondering how the hell she's already heard about that. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"The Gallaghers are having some dinner party. Hi, Eddie." 

"Hi."

"I'm using their bathroom, and you better not fucking tell," Richie says, shaking dust out of his hair and feeling strangely surreal. He's like standing here bickering with his sister like it's any other fucking day, but he literally  _ saw the future  _ and  _ killed an otherworldly clown  _ today. It's like some shit out of a fucking movie. How is he ever gonna be normal after this?

"Then you'd better not get mud and dust everywhere, buttmunch," his sister retorts and walks away. "Stay out of collapsing houses, kids."

Richie retrieves a trash bag for Eddie from under the kitchen sink and a change of clothes and shows him to his parents' bathroom, mostly because it's nicer and also because Eddie's less likely to make a huge mess and get mud all over his mom's fluffy white rug. Then he goes to his own bathroom and takes the hottest shower in the history of the world. He still aches all over from where the clown grabbed him and threw him around—his knee seriously hurts, he suspects he might be walking weird—and his head's still pounding. He can still see the Deadlights behind his eyes. Stan's hand on his grown-up bathroom door, Eddie staring up at him with wide eyes and a bloody mouth, Bev asking frantically where they were. He thumps his head against the tiled walls and thinks, instead, of the way the clown fell apart, of the way it screeched when it died. It's dead, it's fucking  _ dead, _ and that means Stan and Eddie will live. It dying won't bring back everyone its killed. Georgie isn't coming back, and that hurts like hell, and Richie absolutely hates it for poor Bill. But It is dead, and they've changed the past, and that feels like something. It can't kill kids like Georgie anymore. It's done.

(A part of him still can't believe it's really over, that he actually  _ changed the past.  _ That all that stuff he's seen  _ won't happen  _ because he ended it here. His friends won't die or get hurt, Mike won't be stuck in Derry forever, and he won't forget them, and Stan and Eddie won't  _ die _ . It's so relieving that he wants to cry; he covers his face with his hands and leans against the tile, water running down his face warmly so that he can't even distinguish between that and tears.)

Eddie's still in the shower when Richie gets out; he can still hear the water pounding through his parents' bedroom door. He meant to wait for Eds—he plans to offer him his bed—but he's exhausted and achey and he can't stand it anymore. He ends up crawling into bed, telling himself that he'll just sit there until he hears Eddie come out, but he's asleep before he knows it, half-sprawled against the wall. He doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep until Eddie's shaking the hell out of his shoulder and whispering, "Scoot  _ over _ ."

Richie scoots over and Eddie climbs in beside him, the same way they've done for years at sleepovers, nights spent bickering quietly and fighting over the sheets until the wee hours of the morning. Their feet are tangled up in the middle; the bed is probably too small for the two of them to still share like this, but Richie can't really bring himself to care. 

"You almost died again, you fucking idiot," Eddie says in a stuffed up voice. Richie's got his eyes mostly closed, so he can't see what Eddie's face looks like, but he sounds pissed. "You almost died like  _ three times _ ."

"We all did, Eds," Richie mumbles, trying not to think about the spiked tentacle shooting towards his friends, towards Eddie, trying not to think about Stan's face getting eaten and Bev in the Deadlights and Bill grabbed by the clown. Adult Eddie in the Deadlights. He swallows hard and shoves his face halfway into his pillow. "I thought… I thought you  _ all _ were gonna die, Eds. I saw it in the Deadlights. I thought…" he begins, and can't think of how to finish. He swallows hard to draw back tears.

"You got caught in the fucking Deadlights and I had to throw something at it because it was gonna  _ kill  _ you, and you  _ still  _ didn't wake up, even after it was gone… a-and then the stupid fucking clown grabbed you and I…" Eddie sniffles loudly. "I'm just glad you're okay, dumbass." He reaches through the sheets and grabs Richie's hand in his. 

Richie sniffles, too, blinking back tears, and squeezes his hand, the Deadlights still somewhere behind his eyes. He holds on as tight as he can. "I'm glad you're okay, too, Eds," he says. "You have  _ no  _ fucking idea."

He hears the sound of Eds choking back tears across the mattress. He doesn't let go of Richie's hand. They fall asleep like that, clasping hands in the middle of the mattress, and for once, for  _ once _ , Richie does not dream. 

\---

Richie wakes up the next morning aching from head to toe; his ribs feel like shit, and his knee hurts like hell when he puts weight on it. Eddie's still asleep, so he climbs over him and goes to the bathroom and takes like three aspirins and a glass of tap water. He grabs a couple more aspirins for Eddie and heads back, intending to climb over Eddie and go back to sleep, but Eddie wakes up when he knees him straight in the side. "Shit, shit, shit, sorry, Eddie," he swears, falling over Eddie and cursing again when he lands on his shitty knee. Eddie's kind of staring at him when he lands, so he holds out his hand and adds lamely, "I… I brought you aspirin."

Eddie blinks blearily, rubbing at his eyes, and mumbles sleepily, "Thanks," taking the aspirin. "How's your knee?" he asks in a tone that says he already knows. 

"Fucked up," Richie groans, leaning unevenly against the wall. "How's your arm?"

"Still broken," Eddie says dryly. "Like your ribs probably are."

"Are not."

"Rich, that clown was throwing you around like you were made of nothing, you need to go to the  _ hospital.  _ Your ribs are probably cracked, you need to get them set, broken bones fucking suck, okay?" 

"I guess you would know," Richie mutters, shifting awkwardly and jostling his elbows and knees against Eddie as he goes. The bed is definitely too small for both of them, but he'd probably be  _ super  _ fucked up if he'd slept on the floor.

"I don't know," Eddie says, and his voice is suddenly thick. "T-the arm is real, the broken arm, but… nothing else is."

"Wait, wait, Eds, whaddya mean?" Richie turns to face him, wincing at the pain in his side and nudging at Eddie's shoulder. " _ What's _ not real?"

Eddie's got his good hand draped over his face and he's speaking bitterly behind it. "I don't have asthma. M-my pills aren't real. They're bullshit. Gretta Keene told me." 

Richie's mouth hangs open in shock. The possibility that Eddie  _ doesn't  _ have asthma is fucking ridiculous; he can still remember Eddie toting it around as a tiny kindergartner, his hands too small on the stupid plastic thing. He started carrying it after his dad died, eight years ago. He says, "Wh—what does that even  _ mean _ ?"

"It means my mom's been lying to me." Eddie lets his arm drop, and his eyes are rimmed red. "I'm not sick. She just wants me to think I am."

Richie lets his head drop to his arm limply. It sounds so fucking unreal, that Eddie couldn't be sick, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it might make sense. He's going through the memories and it does, it might make sense. But he doesn't understand why Mrs. K would  _ do _ that, why anyone would do that to someone. Eddie's been imprisoned by being a "sickly kid" for  _ years.  _ "What are you going to do?" he asks quietly. 

"I don't know." Eddie flips over to look at him miserably. "What do  _ you _ think I should do?"

"Well, you shouldn't take the meds anymore," Richie says immediately. "Obviously. Reevaluate your whole life. You'll be a whole new person. We'll call you No-Meds Eds!" 

Eddie rolls his eyes at that, shaking his head. "I mean,  _ obviously _ I don't take the fake meds, but I mean, what do I do about my mom? What if she makes me keep taking them? What if…" He breaks it off, rubbing at his face. "Did I… did I have my inhaler in the dreams? Was I still using it, even then?"

"Um, you…" Richie begins automatically, and then pauses because he realizes that he has no idea how to finish. "I don't know," he says, dumbfounded. 

"You don't know? What do you  _ mean _ , you don't know?"

"I dunno." Richie shakes his head so hard his glasses hang from one ear, but it does nothing to jog his memory. "This is fucking weird, I'm trying to remember and I genuinely  _ can't _ fucking remember if I saw that or not… what the  _ fuck _ ?"

"Did you hit your head yesterday?" Eddie asks, immediately concerned. He pokes at Richie's forehead like it's gonna open up and give him all the answers. "Do you have amnesia?  _ Fuck, _ that could be a major fucking issue, didn't you say that we all forgot our childhoods when we left? W-what if the clown did this somehow, what if y—"

"Hey, knock it off, Eduardo, I'm  _ fine _ . I-I don't think that's it." Richie (gently) swats Eddie's hand away and shoves his glasses back on his face. "Anyways, I don't think it matters, cause it's not gonna happen the way I saw it. Remember? We killed the clown, so I'm pretty sure it all ends here. We won't forget or anything like that. So even if Former-Future-Other Adult You used bullshit asthma meds, that's not what  _ you  _ have to do." He pokes Eddie in the side of the face, maybe to be encouraging, maybe a little bit outta revenge. "You can do whatever the fuck you want now, Eds-o."

Eddie's face scrunches up like he's confused, and he shifts his position thoughtfully. "Rich? What did you and Bev see in the window yesterday? Your faces got all weird and you were exchanging those weird looks, what the fuck was up with that?"

"We saw us," Richie says, and he hasn't forgotten that, and he smiles a little at the memory. It's actually a good memory for once. "Us as adults. And we were happy."

Something like relief passes over Eddie's face, and he seems to relax. Richie grins wider, reaching out to mess up Eddie's hair. "We're gonna be okay, Eddie," he says. "It's all over now."

\---

Eddie pretty much forces Richie to tell his parents about his ribs as soon as they go down for breakfast. Thank god he's willing to back up his life about falling off a rock up in the woods. (His sister makes a face like she wants to bring up the collapsing house on Neibolt but she doesn't, thank fucking  _ god _ .) 

His parents drag them both to the hospital where the doctor confirms three cracked ribs and makes several jokes about Eddie and Richie and broken bones and not being reckless, and then they drop Eddie back at his place. Richie's hope—and he figures Eddie is hoping the same based on his nervous, hunched stance beside him in the back seat—is that his mom and dad will be able to make Mrs. K calm the fuck down before Eddie goes in. (And that they won't mention the cracked ribs.)

("Call me if anything goes wrong, okay?" he says in the car while his parents chat with a pissed-off looking Mrs. K on the porch. "I'll come running and break you out. Think if we call your mom a clown enough, she'll disintegrate, too?"

"Shut the fuck up," Eddie says, shoving at his shoulder lightly. "Take care of your ribs and your knee, okay? Don't be a dumbass. I'll see you as soon as my mom lets out of the house again." 

"You can take her, Spaghetti," Richie says cheerfully. "You're braver than you think." He tousled Eddie's hair before he climbs out of the car, and Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn't smack his hand away. He waves a little, anxiously, before following his mother into the house.)

When Richie gets home, he finds a message from Bev on the machine, asking him to come to Ben's so they can talk. If it were any other situation, he might put it off, but it's Bev, and they need to talk this shit over. His parents agree as long as he  _ walks _ , not bikes—his mother tells him to be back in an hour and his father says, entirely too cheerfully, "Make sure you don't fall off any buildings, son."

The walk to Ben's isn't horrible, although Richie kind of wishes that he had his bike. His knee is still throbbing like crazy. Ben is the one who answers the door when Richie gets there, and he looks pretty relieved to see him. "Hi, Richie," he says. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Cracked ribs and a bruised-ass knee, Haystack. How the fuck are you?" Richie pats his shoulder. 

He shrugs. "Sore, I guess. I'm okay, though. Bev said she wanted to talk to you alone?"

"Yeah, we got some shit to sort out," Richie says, entering the apartment at Ben's gesturing arm. "Don't worry, we'll fill you guys in on all this bullshit soon. Bill and Eddie know a little, but Stan and Mike are in the dark with you."

"Um, right," Ben says politely, closing the door behind him. "Bev's in the living room. My mom is talking to the police, so she should be gone for a while."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Benjamin." Richie half-hugs him with an arm around his shoulder. "We'll letcha know when we're done."

Bev is indeed in the living room, looking a hell of a lot better than yesterday, and she gets up to hug him when he comes in. He'd kind of planned on cracking a joke as his opener, but the will to do that kind of leaves him, so he just says, "Hey, Beverly," instead and hugs her back tightly. "How are you doing?"

Bev shrugs. "Ben's mom is really nice," she says. "She's talking to the cops and letting me stay here til everything's figured out… Uh, I dunno what's going to happen, but I don't think I'm going to have to go back and live with my dad."

_ Thank god the Useless Adult Curse was finally lifted,  _ Richie thinks. He doesn't know the details of how Bev's dad ended up all unconscious on the floor, but he does know this: that the guy deserved it, and that he doesn't want Bev to go back. "That's great, Bevvers," he says out loud. 

"Thanks, Richers." She pokes him in the arm and sits back down. "So," she says evenly, "the Deadlights."

"Riiiight," says Richie, and he collapses next to her on the couch. "Fucking trip, huh? And not the fun kind."

"No kidding." Bev grimaces. "That was… that was  _ us  _ in there, that was our future. Stan and Eddie…"

"Not anymore," Richie says quickly, sternly. "We  _ changed _ it. It's not gonna happen that way."

"Good," Bev says, her voice hard as she twists the key she's still wearing around her neck.

Richie nods, pulling at a thread on his t-shirt. "That was fucked, Bevvie. We all forgot each other and had to come back to fight the clown and things went all to shit."

"No kidding," says Bev. "I saw… I saw all of us die in there, but I saw Eddie and Stan the most. I think…" She breaks off mid-sentence, swallowing hard. "I think they really would've died if we hadn't changed things." 

Richie nods, because it's  _ true _ , as much as he doesn't want to admit it. Bev grimaces, swiping at her eyes . "All that stuff we saw in there… it was real, and you  _ knew _ it was real," she adds. "You knew before I did. And… the older version of me said something about… talking to you…"

"Oh, yeah," Richie says with a grimace of his own; he figured he'd have to tell Bev everything, but it still hasn't gotten any more fun. He's not really looking forward to filling Stan and Mike and Ben in. He pulls the t-shirt thread out further, even though his mom is gonna strangle him for unraveling another t-shirt. "She toldja about our mysterious midnight rendezvouses?"

"Something like that. She said something about it being because of the Deadlights, because we both got caught in them. And that you'd been— _ we'd _ been, I guess—talking for a couple months now."

"Yep. And Adult You is pretty cool, but also vague as  _ fuck _ . I'm only telling you this because I don't know that I'm ever gonna talk to Adult You again, but Bev, I'd like you to consider the importance of  _ clarity  _ and  _ immediate honesty  _ as an adult. By the time you finally decided to fucking  _ tell me _ something, the clown invaded the dreams and told me that he had you and we had to go kill the fucking thing."

"You saw that the clown took me?" Bev says, half a question and half not. "Bill said you were already at my place when he realized I was gone, but I didn't know…"

"I've dreamt a lot of future shit," says Richie grimly. "I saw, like, Eddie's broken arm and Ben's stomach wound and Mike fighting Bowers and Bill being grabbed by the clown. Adult You warned me about some stuff, like Neibolt, and told me some stuff about how we all ended up. That's why I asked ya about weird dreams that one time, I wanted to know if it was, like,  _ you _ you or future you in the dreams. And I saw what we saw in the Deadlights." He swallows hard, winding the thread around his finger tightly until the tip is white and bloodless. "I've been seeing Stan and Eddie die since June. It just took me a while to figure out  _ why _ ."

Bev's eyes go wide with horror and sympathy. "Holy  _ shit _ , Richie. I-it's been going on for that long?"

"Since before any of us even saw the clown in the first place," he says, in a bitter-cheerful tone he thinks is probably  _ not _ appropriate. "It fucking sucked. I spent forever trying to get Adult You to tell me how to kill the clown so it wouldn't happen that way, but you were all reluctant because you were worried about fucking up the past even worse so that, like, all of us died or something. Actually, everyone was worried about that shit. Adult Mike and Ben thought I was the clown, can you  _ believe  _ that?"

"Yes," Bev says in a deadpan voice. 

Richie makes a face at her. "Anyways, screw that, because we managed to take care of it  _ without  _ anyone dying! Take that, Adult Us! Adult Me was absolutely no help either, he called me an asshole! What the fuck is up with that?"

"Who knows," she says, smiling a little at that. "I don't think it matters now. We changed the past, and… I don't think it has to happen the way it did before. Or was supposed to… I don't understand the timeline shit."

"Who the hell does, it's confusing as shit," says Richie. 

"Right. But whatever we saw in the window… I think we did it. I think we ended it now, and I think we really changed what happened." Bev looks down at the floor, her hands on her knees, sagging forward in something that looks like relief. 

"I think so, too," Richie says. "We  _ Back to the Future _ 'd our own life so that Future Us is happy. And thank fucking god."

"Right." Bev looks back up, and she's grinning. "I… don't know what's supposed to happen to me next," she adds. "How much of it was good, before, and how much was bad. But… Adult Me said she wanted us all to survive. And that she wanted us all to remember. That she hoped I got to remember all of you, and that we stayed in touch… because you guys were some of the best friends she's— _ I've  _ ever had."

Richie's throat goes all thick even as he tries to laugh it off and say, "Oh, come on, Marsh. Don't get all sappy on me now."

Bev laughs again and pokes his arm, saying, "Beep, beep, Richie." 

Richie shrugs and looks down at his shoes. It  _ is _ sappy as hell, but he feels the same way. He doesn't want to forget any of them. He'd be perfectly fine with forgetting the clown and this stupid, stupid town and every one of his dreams, but not his friends. Not his friends. 

"So," he says, "I guess we've gotta fill the others in. I mean, Bill and Eddie know a little, but they don't know everything, and the others have gotta be wondering."

"Definitely," says Bev. "They deserve to know, even if it's hard to hear." Richie nods stiffly. "We should probably wait til we're all together again, though," she adds, "and I'm not sure when that'll be. I think Bill needs some time."

"Yeah," says Richie. "I think that Georgie shit was pretty tough."

Bev prods his leg with the toe of one shoe. "Are you two okay?" she says, maybe a little sternly. "After everything?"

"Yes, Bev," he says in a sickly sweet Voice, "I took your advice and we talked and have apologized for all our transgressions and fallen madly in love." Bev rolls her eyes and he adds, "Yeah, I think so. I mean, I know I was an asshole, and he was, too, so I think we're even. But I apologized, and he did, too." 

(He'd said it after he explained about the dreams and Eddie and Stan, when Bill was staring at him like he was nuts or a douche or had punched him all over again; he'd said,  _ Bill, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I said _ and lurched forward to hug him because he'd been scared shitless and he was pissed, but he hated the idea of Bill still hating him more than he hated Bill. And Bill had looked stunned but had hugged him back, had said,  _ I'm s-s-s-sorry, too, Rich, I… I shouldn't have punched you.  _ And Richie had said,  _ No, you shouldn't have, I mean, I did almost  _ die, and Bill had laughed and called him an ass, and things hadn't seemed okay then because Bev was gone and he knew they had to kill the clown now, but he could only think that he was glad  _ they _ were okay. Him and Bill. That he hoped they were friends again.)

"Good," Bev says, and pokes him again. "You two needed to knock it the fuck off. We were all going nuts waiting for you two."

"Easy for you to say, you were hanging out with him already," Richie says, sticking out his tongue at her. Bev makes a face at him, and Richie flops back against the couch, glasses sliding lopsidedly down his nose. "Bev, how the fuck are we ever gonna get them to believe us about this shit?" he asks tiredly. 

"You got Eddie and Bill to believe you, right?" Bev retorts, and Richie shrugs. "Besides," she adds, "we did  _ kill  _ a demon clown this week. I think visions of the future are a little less unbelievable than that."

"Sure, right," Richie says. "Maybe not the visions of the future, but the  _ specifics _ make it sound crazy, dude. I mean, Stan's severed spider head? Bill being all famous? How the fuck am I supposed to explain  _ that? _ " 

"Bill was famous?" Bev asks, something like laughter in her voice. 

"Yeah, he was a writer dude. And you did fashion, Ben did architecture stuff, Mike stayed in Boringsville Psychotown and worked in the library, and I was also famous as a comedian. Typical shit, you know." He waves a dismissive hand. 

Bev laughs, louder this time. "Right, sure, definitely. Fashion, huh? Why fashion?"

"I…" Richie starts, but he breaks it off abruptly. "I dunno. I can't remember if you said."

Bev shrugs, nonplussed. Richie wrecks his brain to try and remember what Adult Bev had said, but he's only coming up with nothing; she told him what they did, and where they lived, but he can't really remember what it is she said. Bev's still looking at him, though, so he adds, "Adult You may have been weird and secretive and all that shit, but she still seemed pretty cool. I guess you still got it twenty-seven years from now, Marsh."

"Thanks, Tozier. I appreciate that," says Bev lightly. "Old You seemed cool, too."

"Okay,  _ that _ is a massive lie," Richie says. 

Bev laughs and pokes him again. "Seriously, though. I hope we still do know each other in twenty-seven years. I know it's cheesy, but I… I've never had friends like you guys before. I don't wanna lose that."

Richie could make another joke there, but he doesn't, cause he relates entirely too much to the sentiment. He just says, "Yeah. Me neither," and pokes her back. He remembers the sight of the seven of them in that store window, looking out at them, together, happy. It's exactly what he wants out of this new future, the blank slate created by the stupid dead clown. Even if it's frustrating as shit that he's having trouble remembering how the original future went.

He stays at Ben's for another hour, sitting on the couch with the two of them flipping through TV channels and definitely not talking about the clown. Ben doesn't ask questions, which Richie is grateful as shit for right now. (He and Bev have this whole complex system of inside jokes that Richie doesn't understand. He guesses he's happy for them and their eventual love affair.) When he leaves, they both hug him goodbye at the door, and Bev shoots him a goofy wink and says, "Hope you don't dream." Richie flips her off (without any real malice) before the door closes. 

\---

He  _ does  _ dream, later that night. It's hazy, hazier than it's been in a while—probably because it's not a  _ nightmare.  _ It's a good dream, and one he doesn't remember too well later, but it leaves him feeling warm and happy when he wakes up. Jesus Christ, the clown really  _ has _ turned him into a fucking sap. 

All he remembers of the dream is this: it's basically the same as the dinner scene he's seen a dozen times, except Stan is there. Stan is there, smiling and laughing with them, rolling his eyes, twisting a ring around his finger. They're  _ all  _ laughing and smiling and ragging on each other, and it doesn't stop abruptly when Mike pulls out the story of the alien murder clown that they have to kill. Mike, in fact, doesn't look as tired as Richie thinks he used to; none of the adult versions of them do. They look better than they have every time Richie's seen them, like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. 

"I think that means we're happy someday," he tells Eddie on the phone the next morning. "Like we actually changed something, and now we're all happy and we all still see each other. You know?"

"Yeah, I know," Eddie says on the other end, and he sounds so relieved that it almost makes Richie sick to his stomach. He hates the idea that Eddie knows he was supposed to die, after all this, even though it's not going to happen now. 

(Eddie's mom is pissed beyond belief, apparently, but he's somehow not grounded, which is why they can talk on the phone in the middle of the day; he's laying low, but he's coming back outside when they all start hanging out again, he's told Richie. He's not letting himself be controlled. Richie is proud as shit.)

"Hey, did you see anything different to suggest that things had changed, besides Stan being there?" Eddie adds. "Like did any of us look different physically? Did anyone, like, have on a wedding ring who didn't used to or… something like that?" 

"I… I don't know," Richie says, and his forehead wrinkles with frustration when he  _ realizes  _ he doesn't know for the hundredth fucking time. He's been trying to  _ forget  _ the dreams, the Deadlights, and every horrible thing he saw in them, but now that he's trying to  _ remember, _ he can't see anything clearly. The images used to rise automatically—unbidden, even—to the surface, but now they won't come even when he tries. He can picture all of their faces, them as adults, but he can't see anything else. It's as hazy as his dream last night; he can only kind of remember it, like he's looking at it through foggy glasses.

"You said the same thing yesterday," Eddie says, his voice full of fear, "when I asked about my inhaler… Rich, are you okay? Are you sure you didn't hit your head?"

"Yeah, I think so, it's just… I can't picture the dreams as well as I used to be able to." Richie rubs at his forehead frantically like a genie is about to pop out. "What the fuck, why does this shit  _ always _ go out right when it's inconvenient?"

"Do you think it's the clown?" Eddie asks in a small voice. "Taking your memories away, like I said before? Do you think… do you think It's not dead?"

"It's dead," Richie says immediately, because it  _ is,  _ he saw it, It's dead. "It's definitely dead, It can't  _ not  _ be dead. It's not that. It's just some inconvenient bullshit pulling the strings… maybe Adult Bev is messing around in there, doesn't want me to change the past anymore. That'd be great, right?"

His sister sticks her head out in the hall and says, "What the hell are you  _ talking _ about?" Richie gracelessly flips her off and she rolls her eyes and goes back into the living room.

"Maybe it's a good thing that you're kind of forgetting," Eddie says on the other end, his voice sounding kind of torn but unflinching. 

"What? Eds, why the fuck would I  _ want  _ to forget? Those dreams were what fucking saved us, changed the past! I fucking need them to make sure nothing else goes wrong!" Richie waves a hand frantically, not really caring whether or not his mom and sister hear him. Sure, yeah, he doesn't really wanna relive those fucking dreams, they're horrible, they suck. But also they've become reassuring to him, a reminder that he can still change what happens for the better. A mark of comparison about what's going to go differently.

"Yeah, sure, I wanna make sure it goes right, too, but Richie, the dreams made you  _ miserable.  _ I mean, you said you woke up screaming before. That sounds fucking shitty! And I mean, we killed the clown, right? What else do we need to know?"

"Plenty of things," Richie says pointedly. "How do I become a comedian? How do Ben and Bev hook up now? How do we all stay in touch now? How—"

"I dunno, Rich, we can figure that all out, can't we?" Eddie says exasperatedly. "That's what, like,  _ normal  _ people do, who  _ don't _ get visions of the future. We changed the important parts, and now we have a chance for the future to be whatever we want."

"Yeah, sure, okay, but don't you want the  _ guarantee  _ that we'll all be okay? Cause I've seen it and can compare?" 

"It's like what that old dude said in  _ Back to the Future.  _ You don't wanna know too much about your own future or bad shit happens."

Richie replies in his best Michael J. Fox Voice: "Heavy, dude. I never woulda shown you that movie if I'd known how much you were gonna quote it, man."

Eddie laughs and says, "Shut the fuck up, you know I'm right. And that Voice was a little too Surfer, anyways."

"Oh, whatever." Richie sticks out his tongue automatically, even though Eddie can't see him. "Okay, fine, sure, I won't miss all the creepy fucking parts." (He's trying to remember how Eddie died—or would've died if they hadn't changed things—and is realizing he can't picture it, and that's just as much of a relief to him as anything, even if he is still pissed about this. He  _ never _ wants to see that again.) "I just… what if I forget something important? What if I fuck it up, like Adult Bev said?"

"You're not gonna fuck it up," Eddie says, still sounding exasperated. "You talked us into  _ bullying  _ a  _ clown _ to death, Rich, you'll be fine. I mean, we've got to grow up either way, most people don't have a road map. And we won't forget this time, so we can keep in touch this time, if we want to." His voice goes quiet again at the end, like he's uncertain about them all wanting to keep in touch. 

"I dunno about you, Eds, but I wanna stay friends with all of you," Richie says. And he  _ does  _ mean all of them, but he's thinking about Eddie right now. About the stupid  _ R + E  _ on the stupid Kissing Bridge. How he'd meant for it to be  _ Richie and Eddie were here,  _ like Eddie had said before; how maybe they can go back, in a month or a couple years or maybe twenty-seven years from now, and see it and smile like the sappy old geezers they'll turn into. He'll tell him it's just a shortened  _ Richie and Eddie were here,  _ of course, that it was just too exhausting to carve out all that shit—or maybe not, maybe someday he'll be able to tell him the truth. He thinks he wants to come back with Eddie and remember that they  _ were _ there; he wants to see the hammock in the clubhouse, the quarry where they tried to drown each other every summer, the dam they tried to build. He wants to see it all with Eddie, his best friend, and remember all of the good things together.

"Personally," he adds quickly, in case he's spaced out too much, "I want to be able to annoy you til we're in the nursing homes. I wanna see you yelling at kids to get off your lawn." He puts on a Geezer Voice: "Hey, you stupid kids…" 

"Oh, shut up, Richie," Eddie says, but it doesn't sound that angry. "Yeah, I-I wanna stay friends as adults, too."

Richie smushes a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. "Glad to hear it, Eds-o," he says. 

"Don't call me that," says Eddie, but he sounds like he might be smiling, too. He changes the subject, asking if Richie knows what's going on with Bev, or if he thinks she's forgetting, but Richie can't stop replaying it in his head, the sound of Eddie saying he wants to stay friends with him as adults. The way he's hoped they would ever since he saw them all together someday. 

\---

A couple days pass without any of them really seeing each other. News spreads around town about everything that's happened—the censored version, that is. Most of the missing kids wash out of the sewers, horrifying the whole goddamn town. Henry Bowers is arrested for murdering his father, and immediately has the murders of all the kids pinned on him. People speculate about the collapse of Neibolt, about how it might be connected, what if Bowers was  _ in there _ when it collapsed, but none of the Losers' parents connect it to their kids' spontaneous injuries. (Richie's sister gives him knowing looks while their dad reads the newspaper and he just sticks his tongue out in a silent retaliation. The adults of Derry still seem pretty foggy, anyway, but he thinks they're coming out of it, and he won't risk it.)

Richie talks to Eddie on the phone a couple times, and talks to Bill, too. Bill sounds like he's been crying when he answers the phone, but he talks to Richie in a remarkably steady voice the whole time. He still misses Georgie, he tells Richie, but he's glad that he knows for sure. Richie still feels horrible for him. He can't get the image out of his head of Bill with the gun to Fake Clown Georgie's forehead, of Bill sobbing with his face pressed in the slicker. Bill's believed so strongly for so long that Georgie is alive, that he could find him and bring him home, that it must be fucking awful to see otherwise. He tells Bill he's sorry, that he's here for him, that they're all here for him, and Bill says, "I kn-kn-know."

Bev calls him a couple times from Ben's house, too. Apparently they've gotten enough evidence so that she doesn't have to live with her dad anymore. She has an aunt in Portland, her mom's sister, who's going to come down to get her. "She's really great," she tells him. "My dad would never let me go visit her much, but I remember really liking her."

"That's great, Bev," Richie says, trying his damndest to sound happy for her. He definitely wants her to live with someone who isn't her shitty fucking father, but he can't stand the idea of any of them leaving Derry. Especially since he's still not sure whether or not they're going to remember each other after they leave. 

"I know, Portland's far away," Bev says disappointedly. "But it's only a couple hours, and my aunt has promised that she's gonna bring me back to visit."

"Hey, no, Derry sucks, Bev, you should get the fuck away," Richie says, waving a dismissive hand and trying to sound happy. She deserves this and he's not gonna fuck it up for her. "Any chance we can all come with you?" he adds hopefully. 

Bev laughs on the other end. "For the record, you all are the only thing I'm gonna miss about this shithole," she says. "But we're gonna stay in touch, okay? Letters and phone calls and everything."

"Definitely, Marsh. We just gotta make sure you don't forget, right? I say we lie and say you're eighteen, and we can get our names and phone numbers tattooed on your arm, so even if you forget you'll still  _ have _ to call us."

"I think I'm good," Bev says, laughing again. "Richie, I really don't think I'm going to forget. I think we did it. We broke the curse or whatever."

"Hope so," Richie says. "Otherwise I'm pretty sure we'll have to bus down to Portland and remind you that we exist. You can't  _ forget _ if we're gonna stay friends, Bevvers. It's not the Loser's Club without you."

"Yeah, don't worry about it, Richie. I think your face is permanently burned into my brain."

"Wow, thanks a lot," Richie says, offended, while Bev giggles on the other end. He remembers his stupid foggy brain suddenly, and adds, "Hey, speaking of forgetting… this is gonna sound weird, but… how well do you remember the Deadlights?"

Bev doesn't answer for a minute, her voice coming back uncertain when she finally speaks. "It's… hazy," she says. "Like I remember what happened, but I can't  _ picture _ it for some reason."

"Oh, thank god." Richie bumps his head against the table in relief. "I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting the dreams. I can remember telling, like, you and Bill and Eds about them, but I can't picture anything, either."

"I've been trying to write stuff down," Bev says, "so we don't forget and we can still fill everyone in on what we saw in the Deadlights."

"Yeah, probably a good idea," Richie says, scrunching up his face in frustration. "I was worried about forgetting too much, but Eddie thinks it's a good thing. Some shit about how shitty the dreams were so it's good that I'm forgetting."

"He's probably right," she says. "I don't really want to remember the Deadlights."

"They really fucking sucked."

"Damn right." Bev sighs on the other end, heavily. "This has all been so fucking weird. I still can't believe that this all happened."

"Join the club, Marsh. I'm still not positive that half of that wasn't a huge drug trip."

"Right, right." Bev pauses for a second, says, "Richie, listen… I think we need to talk to Stan before we talk to the others. He deserves to know what happened before we spring it on everyone else."

Richie groans because he's spent literal  _ months _ really, really not wanting to do this. "I'm still in favor of never telling him about the him-dying-thing," he says. "I wouldn't have told Eddie if he wasn't a stubborn little shit who wouldn't let it go."

"The clown kind of already told him, remember? When he had Bill." 

"Fucking shit," Richie hisses, ignoring his mom's call of, "Language, Richard!" from the other room. 

"I've talked to him once, Richie, and he's really freaked out," Bev says, maybe gently. "One of us needs to fill him in, and I think it should be you. You know him better than I do."

Richie groans again and punches the floor. "Fuck that fucking clown in his fucking grave," he hisses, knuckles aching as bad as his cracked ribs. 

"I'll second that," says Bev, her voice hard. "But… we killed It, remember? We ended it. It's over." 

"Right." Richie rubs his knuckles, shooting his mom an innocent look when she sticks her head out of the kitchen to glare at him. He waits til she's gone to say, "Bev, I really don't want to do this."

"I don't, either," Bev says. "I really, really don't. But we have to. We owe Stan that much."

And since she's right, of course, and since Richie can't stop hearing Stan's horrified gasp at the stupid clown's words, he tells Bev she's right and hangs up the phone, then picks it up again and dials Stan's number. 

\---

Richie meets Stanley out by the Standpipe, finds him sprawled out in the summer grass with binoculars resting on his chest, looking lazily up at the sky. He's got bandages wrapped around his entire head like the ghost in that dumb  _ A Christmas Carol  _ movie and the sight makes Richie wanna punch something again. He's still furious that he let Stan out of his sight after promising to keep him safe. It's as bad as what he did to Eddie in Neibolt. 

Stan gives Richie a sideways look when he shows up, somewhere between a smile and a frown, and he sits up a little when Richie plops down beside him. "How are you feeling, Rich?" he asks. "Eddie told me you cracked a couple ribs."

"Um, no, the  _ clown demon  _ cracked a couple ribs, and I am a-okay," Richie says, but he regrets the words as soon as he says it, by the look on Stan's face. "What about you, Stan the Man? How's your—" He motions vaguely at Stan's face, feeling like the biggest ass in the world.

Stan shrugs. "Hurts, I guess." He leans forward on his knees and turns his head to look at Richie. "Bev said I should talk to you," he says solemnly. 

Richie swallows hard and nods. "Yeah, she told me the same thing."

Stan gulps, too, and pulls absently on the bandages where they're tucked under his chin. "What did the clown mean," he says in a wobbly voice, "when he said if we left Bill that Eddie and I wouldn't have to sacrifice our lives for this? H-he looked like he was talking to you."

Richie takes a deep breath, shoving his glasses up to rub at his face. He and Eddie had agreed to wait to tell Stan til they knew more, and they definitely know more. He guesses now is the time. "Stanley," he says, "do you remember that time I called you at two a.m.?"

So, yeah, he tells Stan everything. From the beginning, as best he can. He tries to censor the details—he doesn't really wanna talk about Spider-Head-Stan—but he tells Stan pretty much the whole story, from the first dream right down to the Deadlights. 

By the end, Stan has said nearly nothing and he looks kind of like he's going to throw up. And Richie's trying to remember the conversation he had with Adult Stan in the Deadlights, at the door to his bathroom—he can remember Adult Stan's face, staring right at him with his mouth half open—but he can't remember what he  _ said _ . He's talking anyway, though—he's saying, "It's okay, Stan, cause we killed it, you saw it, and it doesn't have to happen that way now. It  _ won't,  _ okay? I saw you the other night, you were there with all of us and you were married and you were  _ happy.  _ We were all together."

"I didn't wanna go in before," Stan says in a strangled voice. "I wouldn't want to come back. I never, ever, ever want to do that again. Ever. It's the worst experience I've ever had, Richie. I was so fucking pissed at you all for making me." His voice goes tight at the end, when he adds, "But I don't want to  _ die _ ."

Richie shakes his head so hard his glasses almost fall off his face, saying, "You're not going to  _ die _ , Stan, I promise, you're not gonna die, we stopped it so you don't have to come back now, you never have to do this again, it's  _ over _ …" He breaks it off mid-sentence, though, when Stan leans forward abruptly and hugs him hard. Stan's not the type to hand out hugs freely, so it's a bit of a surprise, but Richie can't bring himself to care. He wraps his arms hard around Stan and hugs him back. 

"Stan, I'm sorry," he says muffedly into his shoulders. "I'm sorry about… everything. I'm sorry you had to go in, I'm sorry I lost track of you in the sewers, I let that  _ thing  _ get you when I said I'd keep an eye on you…"

"Richie,  _ shut up _ . Shut up, okay? It's not your fault, you didn't do it, you got me out of there, so just shut up, okay?" Stan says fiercely. 

"Okay," Richie says, and he shuts up. Stan keeps holding on for a few more minutes, sniffling, before he lets go and wipes at his face. Richie looks down at the grass, pulling at strands until Stan speaks again. He says, "So… that's what you saw in the Deadlights. All of us together as adults, fighting the clown again. That's how you knew we had to Henry Bowers it."

"Don't let someone hear you saying that, that douchebag is a serial killer now," Richie says, and Stan laughs dryly. "Yeah," he adds. "That's what Bev and I saw. I'd just seen it for months beforehand."

"And… we don't have to do that now. We actually killed the clown this time, so we don't have to do that now," Stan says cautiously, like he doesn't quite believe it. 

"Nope. We don't have to do that now." Richie jostles Stan's shoulder reassuringly. "We changed the future, Stan-man! I saw it. Bev and I saw it in that window we stopped at on the way home. We all live and we're all together. We  _ stay friends.  _ You were very very wrong in the clubhouse, Stancakes, cause we're all gonna stay friends as adults this time. I'm gonna tattoo our names on Beverly's arm before I let her forget."

Stan laughs a little, shakily, and looks down at the ground. "When you saw me as an adult, Rich… what did I look like?" he asks gingerly, like he's afraid of the answer. 

"Sexy but boring as hell," Richie says automatically. "You had  _ sweater vests.  _ You had  _ reading glasses.  _ You really will clean up with all the grandmas."

"Beep, beep, Richie," Stan says while Richie cackles with wild, scared, relieved laughter. He's been so scared of this future for so long that it still seems unreal that they've changed it. It seems unreal that Stan doesn't hate him now, after what he's told him. But he keeps reminding himself that it won't happen, that he and Stan and all the rest of them probably won't die til they're all super old and super boring. Crusty old geezers. That's the way to go. 

Stan flops back on the grass and Richie flops with him. "I don't want to die, Rich," he says in the tiniest voice.

"You don't, Stanley," Richie says, and he means it, he means it. "You won't. We ended it, it's done.  _ You  _ did that, actually, you kicked the shit out of it, you were very badass. I wanna see that badass you more often, Stanny m'boy."

Stan nudges him hard and says, his voice still shaky, "Not on your life, Richie." 

Richie smiles a little and looks up at the sky. When he tries to picture Adult Stan—that scared Stan outside the bathroom—he can't see it anymore. It's foggy, it's musty, it's  _ gone. _ When he tries it picture Adult Stan, he can only see the Stan from that window, from his dream. Stan laughing, twisting that ring, rolling his eyes. Stan happy. And it's the first time he can really believe what Eddie said, about forgetting being a good thing. He's never been so glad to forget something in his life. 

\---

The day before Bev is supposed to leave for Portland, all seven Losers meet up for the first time since the sewers. They gather in this bright sunny field near the Barrens—one that Richie recognizes from his dreams, even if his brain gets all scrambled every time he tries to picture how that went. He meets the others there and he and Bev exchange knowing looks around the circle. And even though he is sick and tired of telling this story, even though the details are muddled—he and Bev tell them all everything. The whole story, as best as they can tell it. 

Eddie and Bill and Stan all know bits and pieces, but not quite everything—Richie didn't detail the Deadlights much at all. Ben and Mike seem to believe it all—or they're just too polite to tell them that they're nuts. Either way, they listen, staring at the both of them with shock but not disbelief. Richie's just grateful he doesn't sound like a total nutjob anymore—although admittedly the clown that disintegrated when they bullied it like he said probably helped his image. He can't imagine trying to explain this shit with a straight face back in June. 

No one speaks for a while after they're done, aside from Mike, who simply says, "Wow." Richie bugs his eyes out at Bev, like  _ Told you they'd think we're nuts.  _ Bev shrugs, making a face right back. 

"That's how you knew how to kill it," Ben offers. 

"Exactly, Haystack," Richie says agreeably, shoving his glasses up on his nose. "You got it."

"But… we weren't supposed to kill It then?" says Mike, dumbfounded. 

"I don't know about  _ supposed to,  _ Mikey, but I guess not, cause when we did it before—or the way it happened before Bev and I saw the future, I guess—we didn't kill It til we were all old."

"The past changed," Bev says. "I'm sure of that. I saw it in the Deadlights, and our… older selves… were saying things about changing what happened. They— _ we,  _ I guess—wanted things to go differently, so we wouldn't forget, and so we wouldn't lose Eddie and Stan."

Eddie grimaces a little and Stan exhales tightly through his teeth. Richie looks between them with the same nervous energy he's been feeling for months, reaching out a little to pat Eddie's arm. "S-s-so, what do we do n-now?" Bill asks. 

Just the question Richie does NOT want to answer. "Live our lives?" he offers. "Not come back to this shithole in twenty-seven years? Go find another monster to kill cause we're obviously  _ amazing _ at it?" Eddie elbows him to cut him off. 

"I don't think we have to do  _ anything,  _ Bill," Bev says. "If Its really dead. We ended it, it's over."

"We can just live our lives now," Stan says quietly. "Be kids."

Ben and Mike honestly look a little relieved at that, and Richie will second the shit out of that emotion. Look, yeah, he may be an awesome soothsayer and even better monster bully. (Which isn't even completely true, because it took Bev and Stan stepping the fuck up to get the clown to stop shaking him like a Magic Eight Ball, but  _ whatever. _ ). Either way, he is  _ done  _ with this monster killing shit. He's starting to get to a place where he's good with forgetting the nightmares, even.

"W-we swore to come back, right?" Bill asks. "In the future you guys saw?" Bev and Richie nod. "M-m-maybe we should swear again," he continues. "In case… in case we d-didn't really kill it. In case we made a mistake and It comes back. I don't th-think anyone else would notice if It came back."

"Shit, Billy, you sound exactly like Adult You," Richie says, making a face at Bill. He knows Adult Bill had said some shit about what if he wasn't able to kill the clown this time around, but when the others look at him weird, he can't remember exactly what they'd said. So he just says, "Oh, Adult You Guys had, like, no confidence in me and my clown killing abilities. It was a whole thing."

"No, it wasn't," Bev says. 

"I don't think we're gonna need to come back, Bill," says Eddie. "I think Its really dead. The town's changed, haven't you felt it?"

"I have," Ben offers. "Since I moved here… it's felt different than when I first got here, these past couple days."

"Like things are finally changing," says Stan. Mike nods in vigorous agreement. 

Bill still doesn't look sure, but Bev reaches out to touch his arm and says, "It's okay, Bill. It's dead. I'm sure of it." 

And of course that's what works. And, sure, Richie's forgotten most of the dreams, but he definitely remembers who Bev's eventually with (assuming it happens the same way), and it'll be a huge relief, cause he's sick of watching Bill and Bev stare at each other with googly eyes like they are now. He and Eddie exchange a look, and Eddie looks like he's biting back laughter; Richie bugs his eyes out in exaggerated agreement. Maybe they'll outgrow this gross shit soon. Hopefully when Ben and Bev fall in love, they won't be  _ this _ disgusting. 

"We should swear anyway," says Mike suddenly. "Not to come back, but… you said we forgot each other, before? The clown made us forget when we left the town?"

"Yeah," Richie says, nudging Eddie. "Shitty, right?" The others nod a little. Bev, self-conscious, pats Bill's arm and looks down at the ground—thinking, Richie's sure, about the fact that she is leaving soon. That if anyone forgets, she will be the first to.

"What if we swore not to forget?" Mike asks gingerly. "I mean, I don't know about you all, but I don't want to forget this summer. Or you guys."

It's quiet for a minute before Eddie says, "Me, either." 

Ben and Bev shake their heads. Stan says nothing, picking at his bandages, but Richie can tell he's agreeing, he can see the relief in his eyes. He himself offers, "Hell, no. Absolutely not. My life clearly goes down the drain without you dickheads around to beep beep me."

Bill looks relieved, sitting up a little straighter. "L-l-let's swear, then," he says. "We won't forget. W-we'll be there for each other and we won't lose touch. And i-if anything like this ever happens again…"

"We'll be there then, too," says Bev. 

And it's corny, yeah, but Richie's as relieved as Bill that Mike suggested it. Because he figures they might grow apart a little but he doesn't want to forget and he doesn't want to lose them. Doesn't want to live in a different coast than Eddie, doesn't want to trade in the best friends he's ever had for some boring grown up friends. Even if they don't reunite to kill a clown in twenty-seven years—and thank fucking god—he still wants an excuse to see them. Losers gotta stick together, and he sure as hell intends to. He wants that scene he dreamed around the dinner table, with all of them there together; he wants the vision he saw in the store window with Bev. 

He gets up with the rest of them when Bill grabs the glass shard, because he's not opposed to a blood pact, insane as it sounds. It feels like an appropriate reminder of all they've gone through, an appropriate way to link them all together, even if it is dramatic. He lets Bill draw the glass across his palm, even though it hurts like hell, it's dripping hot blood all over his fingers. Richie's hand stings like crazy, and it feels so familiar, like he's done this before. Like he saw it in the Deadlights, like Bill had cut their hands before when they'd sworn to come back, because they  _ had  _ sworn to come back.

They're doing the same thing except better now, a better promise that won't get anyone hurt. A promise to come back  _ without _ the murder clown. It's a promise that's gonna follow him even after his hand stops hurting. (Follows him back to Eddie's place after he leaves, where they'll fix up each other's hands and sit around and talk about the future, where they'll end up, what they'll do. Follows him the next morning when they show up at the Town House where Bev's aunt has been staying to dog-pile-hug her goodbye before she climbs in the car. Follows him through the next few months of eighth grade, dodging new bullies in the halls, swimming in the quarry til the temperature drops, biking back and forth out to Mike's farm. Follows him through calling Bev every week, fighting over the receiver with the others; through orchestrating an insane bus trip saved out of allowance down to Portland that gets them all grounded. Follows him as the dreams fade and the Deadlights start to, too, as he starts to forget what they all looked like, sounded like as adults. He doesn't forget the promise; he doesn't  _ want  _ to.)

Bill cuts all of their palms in turn, his first, then Richie's, then Eddie's. Richie pats Eddie's arm sympathetically when it's his turn. Mike smiles a little at Bill when he's up, like he's glad they're promising even though his hand has  _ gotta  _ hurt. Stan winces hard at the glass slicing through his skin and Richie says, "It's better this way, Stancakes, can't break a blood pact, we'll be around to bug you forever," and Stan shakes his hand hard and rolls his eyes. Ben smears the blood around his palm gingerly, like he's unsure of himself, until he locks eyes with Beverly, who grins and does the same thing until Ben's face turns all red. Bill takes his spot back by Richie and looks around at them and says, "Thanks, guys. Y-you guys are the best friends I've ever had," and it is corny, but they all agree. 

They join hands, one by one around the circle. As Richie slips his hand into Bill's and feels the stickiness of blood between them, he blinks and is suddenly back in the Deadlights, lights behind his eyes, vision all fuzzy. He's seen this and it's about the only thing he can remember right now. (He was right, Bill  _ had  _ cut their palms before.) They promised to come back, and it was an important promise, even if it did end horribly. It bonded them for life. Now it just feels like they're right back where they need to be, where they're supposed to end up. Together. And this time, it'll go differently; this time, it'll all have a different ending. 

"Richie?" 

Richie blinks hard at the voice cutting through his stupor and looks over at Eddie, who's got his hand extended like  _ Come on.  _ "Wake the fuck up, dipshit," he says, a little gently, and reaches for Richie's hand. 

Tonight, Richie will go home with Eddie and spend hours talking and arguing and fighting over comics, sneaking snacks up, waiting until Mrs. K is asleep and calling his mom for permission to sleep over. He'll sit up for hours passing a flashlight back and forth, cleaning Pop-Tart crumbs out of Eddie's sheets, talking until they're both exhausted and falling asleep on the rug. He'll fall asleep and he will not dream. And then he'll wake up and his friends will all be alive, Stan and Eddie and everyone, they'll all be alive and Bev will be leaving but she won't forget. None of them will. He thinks that no matter what happens, they'll have each other for the rest of their lives. 

Richie is the last one, he needs to close the circle. He reaches down and takes Eddie's hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic came about entirely incidentally, and only after my usual ritual for starting fic in a new fandom--repeating to myself "you don't need to write this" over and over again until i break down and do it. it started as a minor idea that kind of blew out of proportion until i gingerly started writing it down back in october. this was the first fic i started in this fandom ("the things you see under the streets of derry" was a short distraction fic meant to kind of dip my toes in the water) and writing it has been a lot of fun. 
> 
> a lot of this fic came from my interest in fics where the losers defeat the clown the first time. as much as i love post chapter two fix its (and chapter 2 itself, because apart from the deaths and my complaints about inconsistent plot stuff, i actually really like it), i thought it would be an interesting approach to explore what if they killed it in chap. 1. when i first had the idea, i thought about giving richie the nightmares after the clown stuff was over, but i wanted to set it in a period where he was actually able to do something about it, mostly cause i didn't want to try and cover 27 years. it was weird to rewrite the first movie like this, mostly because richie's kind of out of the loop on the whole thing, but it was definitely interesting. 
> 
> i wanted to make it a fix it for chap. 2 as much as chap. 1, which of resulted in me getting the Adult Losers more involved in the dreams than i originally intended. it may be unclear as to the full picture of what's happened with the dreams--i didn't want to over explain it, and i also figured it made sense that young richie would have a limited perspective on what happened--so here's what i intended: the dreams are initially just residue from the deadlights, and are meant to be a projection of older richie's nightmares onto younger richie. they gain clarity and usefulness as older richie realizes what's happening and begins trying to control them to change the past. my belief is that the timelines merge instead of split after the younger losers kill the clown, so the Adult Losers richie sees get to live the life that the younger ones created. (time stuff is confusing.) i'm wrestling with whether or not to write a short companion emphasizing that point currently. but i wanted to kind of lay out the full picture and hopefully add some clarity to all this. 
> 
> i owe my entire life to whoever uploaded the entire first movie in clips to YouTube, as well as the people at Springfield Springfield who do the dialogue transcripts. it made the writing process a thousand times easier. i owe a lot of this to my friend sarah as well, who repeatedly told me to get over my embarrassment and just write this. i also want to thank everyone who's been reading along from the beginning and leaving comments. i really appreciate your support and compliments, it means the world to me.
> 
> hit me up on tumblr at @how-I-met-your-mulder and on twitter @graceskuls


End file.
